


Beneath His Feet

by archaeologist_d



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Angst, Archaeology, Camelot, Canon Universe, Canon-Typical Violence, Castle Ruins, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, LIDAR, M/M, Magical Artifacts, Magical Bondage, Not Canon Compliant, Old Merlin (Merlin), Rope Bondage, Sex Magic, Stonehenge - Freeform, Suicidal Thoughts, Winter Solstice, digging at archaeological sites, digging in the dirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:22:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 104,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25895872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archaeologist_d/pseuds/archaeologist_d
Summary: Merlin has been protecting Camelot for centuries in the only way he knows how, by keeping everyone out. Can an archaeologist who looks and sounds and acts like Arthur break down those barriers and get Merlin to live again?It would be difficult. Merlin hasn't interacted with the Druids or anyone with magic in years. He collects magical artifacts, though, thinking that King Arthur would need them if he ever came back, and hoards them beneath the ruined castle. Never mind that the Druids and magical folk object strenuously to it — because Merlin has been ignoring the fact that the objects are like magical catalysts, encouraging people with potential to come into their power. Now magic is dying.Arthur Drake, archaeologist, knows nothing of that. He thinks that anyone who believes in magic is ridiculous. He's only there to fulfil a life-long dream of finding Camelot and uncovering it, with trowels and fine brushes and careful analysis. But he finds so much more.
Relationships: Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Comments: 217
Kudos: 138
Collections: After Camlann Big Bang





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> **Author’s Notes:** Gwyllion was a star for betaing this ridiculously long story. How she could do it and not yell at me was quite a feat in patience. Also thanks so much to camelittle for the encouragement to keep writing. 
> 
> And a big shout-out to my artist, the-mortalboyking, who did an excellent job on the artwork. Be sure to check out her art and leave her lots of comments! The scene divider has lots of detail that you might miss otherwise and I love the evocative emotion and color of the cover piece. I’ve put the link in below. Art makes a story so much more vivid and alive and I’m eternally grateful for her pieces! 
> 
> Many thanks to the mods of AfterCamlann Big Bang. It’s a hard job wrangling all the artists and writers and making sure everything goes according to plan (which rarely happens in real life). You are all fantastic!
> 
> **Art link:** <https://archiveofourown.org/works/26037805>

__

_The ruin has fallen to the ground  
broken into mounds, where at one time many a warrior,  
joyous and ornamented with gold-bright splendour,  
proud and flushed with wine shone in war-trappings;  
looked at treasure, at silver, at precious stones,  
at wealth, at prosperity, at jewellery,  
at this bright castle of a broad kingdom._

The Ruin – 8th-9th century poem – published in the Exeter Book in the 10th century

\---------------------------

It was cool and quiet in the woods, the only sound a soft cooing of a far-away dove. Even the branches high above his head were silent, their green leaves unmoving in a Beltane sky.

For a moment, Merlin knew peace. For a moment, he could breathe and not feel the stab of lonely eternities beneath his feet.

But as he took another step, his gaze followed the winding pathways up the hill. He tried to ignore the hint of stone beneath the moss, the softened edge of a ruined wall buried under the branches of a rowan tree, leaf clutter, and the undergrowth of gardens seeded a lifetime ago hiding what was once a shining citadel and a thriving kingdom. 

Before him were the ruins of Camelot.

Shoving aside the melancholy, he tried not to remember how it used to be, how he’d run through the hallways now thick with debris, laughed and cried and loved in rooms cracked and open to the air. The kitchens were choked with vines, the courtyard which once held horses and festivals and danger were now rough with broken stones heaved up with roots and the ever-encroaching forest. 

In the years since Merlin’s fate had turned into dust, he’d tried to keep Camelot’s memory alive, had seeded ballads and myth about Arthur and his court into the countryside. But as the years turned to centuries, his hopes faded even as the citadel tumbled and fell, abandoned to the air.

All that was left of Merlin’s legacy was the sad hope that Arthur would someday return.

At first, Merlin had thought it would be months. Then as years passed and the kingdom of Camelot collapsed into ruin, he didn’t want to think about it any longer, didn’t want to do anything but hide and nurse his grief. But when thieves and desperate peasants began to mine the palace for stone and wood, he couldn’t let it go. Arthur would need a place to stand, to be king again, and where better than Camelot?

With that, Merlin began to gather wealth and not a little power. It was easy enough, a word here, a few coins there, a use of magic and shrewd dealings to amass a small fortune and then a larger one. He made sure it was never enough to tempt whatever current king reigned – some of his ilk were greedy enough to be worrisome, but still, he owned the land, the town, the ruins, several businesses based in London on the side, and coin enough to be left alone.

Not that he did anything to rebuild the castle. That would have drawn too much attention. He did try to maintain a small piece of it, but even then, it was more for his own heart’s ease than rebuilding Camelot’s glory. He had a manor house, more cottage than grand estate, near the ruins, full of things he’d collected over the years, but he only lived in a couple of rooms, and there was never a need for more.

But he was guardian of the place and refused entry to all. A known eccentric and one that the nearby villagers knew as odd but harmless.

It kept the riffraff away, and usually the curious children. There had been a couple that kept coming back, climbing over stones and hills, a boy and a girl intent on finding out his secrets, but he’d scared them off with a few ghostly sounds, floating lights that followed them to the edge of his property, and they hadn’t been back since.

It was quiet in the wood, a lonely place, waiting, waiting for a golden age to return.

A knock on the door was the last thing Merlin expected. Early enough that he couldn’t help grumbling about idiots disturbing an old man’s sleep, suspicious enough of what kind of mischief would bring a villager to a known-recluse’s house, still Merlin shoved himself into semi-clean clothes, scrubbed his hands through his long all-too-grey hair to bring it into some semblance of order, and muttered all the way to the door.

What was standing on the other side left him breathless. Or rather who.

For a moment, all he could do was gawp at the man. Dressed in jeans, a well-pocketed safari jacket hugging two broad shoulders, buttoned-down shirt opened at the neck, he looked a twin to Arthur. There were differences in the crinkle around his eyes and the careful smile, but if Merlin hadn’t known better, he would have said that Arthur had risen again.

Heart racing, his magic bubbling just under his skin in a kind of fierce joy, Merlin stumbled forward a bit, opening his arms to draw Arthur close, to breathe him in at long last. But there was no recognition in the man’s eyes. And that, if anything, stopped Merlin at the door’s edge.

“Mr Emrys, Mr Merlin Emrys?” 

Even the voice was Arthur’s. It killed Merlin to hear it, but he’d already died a thousand times waiting anyway. It was all he could do to stop himself from falling to his knees and weeping at the man’s feet. Instead, hard as it was, Merlin gave a little grunt of acknowledgement and nodded.

“Do I know you?” Merlin wanted the answer to be yes, wanted desperately for some sign that his wait was over.

“My apologies, Mr Emrys. My name is Dr Drake, Arthur Drake. I’m with the Breoten Archaeological Trust. We are doing a survey of the surrounding area and it’s come to our attention that the ruins on your property have not yet been listed.”

Merlin had to admit that he was hardly listening. It wasn’t fair that this man had the same shade of golden hair glinting in the morning sunlight, the same blue eyes, steadfast and true, even the same regal nose. And that mouth of his, one that his Arthur would use to insult as well as turn wicked with mischief, was highly distracting.

“We did send you several requests for permission by post, but when there was no reply, I thought I’d come in person to inquire.” Drake shifted a little, clearly eager about something. There was an intensity there in the way he leaned forward, as if he was impatient to get past dealing with a doddering old fool and start exploring. “Mr Emrys, from what I’ve seen so far, this is a major site, worth investigating, perhaps even opening it up to the public at large when the survey is complete. Some finds from the surrounding area indicate that this site is rich in artefacts.”

Drake must have been talking with those hooligans, the ones that would sneak onto the property from time to time. Merlin couldn’t let the man know just how rich Camelot’s ruins were. He might destroy whatever was left of Arthur’s legacy.

Merlin said, sharply, “It is rubbish, nothing more.”

“Oh, it is so more than that.” Drake stepped forward, his face lighting up. “The legends of Arthur and his knights are strong here and seem to centre on this location. If what my experience and expertise is telling me is true, your property has the potential to be one of the foremost archaeological sites in the district, perhaps even in the whole of the UK.”

The thought of tourists scrambling all over the castle, loud fights and screaming children and incontinent dogs, trash scattered into every corner of Camelot, sickened him. His was a sacred trust and he refused to have it sullied.

“You can’t be serious.”

Drake nodded. “Perfectly serious, Mr Emrys. In the last few minutes, as I walked here from the lane, I’ve spotted a number of intriguing structures, although well-hidden from casual view. In addition, in my enquiries in the village, several people indicated that they were sure the ruins on your property were the remnants of the legendary Camelot of old.” 

This was not good. He’d have to find some way to stop the villagers from talking. In a way, it was his own fault for encouraging the legends to spread. Now he’d have to cover his tracks to keep other intruders from becoming too curious.

But there was a more immediate problem. Dr Drake and that intense stare, his eyes gleaming with intelligence and resolve, those broad shoulders shifting back, squaring, and so much like Arthur’s when he’d turned obstinate that it made Merlin ache.

He could see Drake sinking into dogged determination, ready to argue until Merlin gave in. It probably had worked in the past for Drake and would likely again. It didn’t help that Merlin was a breath away from agreeing, from begging him to stay.

If only there had been a spark of his Arthur in Drake’s blue eyes. But there was nothing there.

Merlin gave a little shudder, shoving his feelings and traitorous magic deep enough to ignore for now, then deliberately rolling his eyes, he said, “You know how people are. Ready to believe whatever they’d last seen on the Internet. Next thing they’ll be telling you that I’m the wizard of old, the original Merlin come back to haunt them. Or they’ll talk of fairies and magic. Such foolishness doesn’t deserve even the slightest attention.” He pointed out toward the pile of rubble, cluttering one side of his house. “These are just old stone ruins, barely of importance except as building material.”

Watching Merlin closely for a moment, Drake turned away, bending down to pick up one of the stones. As luck or unluck would have it, there was a worn bit of carving on the back, an eye, and part of a beak. Even after all those years, Merlin could see the beauty still etched there.

Merlin remembered that piece. It had graced the corridor leading to Arthur’s chambers.

Watching Drake’s thumb trace the stone, slowly, slowly, he wanted to cry, or hide until the world ended. But he did neither.

Nodding at the carving in his hand, Drake said, “A griffin and well-made, too. Only someone of wealth and power would commission such a piece.”

Merlin snatched it out of Drake’s hand, then tossed the stone back into the rubbish pile. It rolled a little, then lay there, eye up, a silent accusation of abandonment. “Nothing of importance.”

“Hardly, Mr Emrys. The carving alone indicates age and worth. Surely you must see it.” Drake stared at him a moment. “There must be hundreds, possibly thousands of similar examples. Worthy of investigation.”

Ignoring how his heart was thumping in joy at seeing Arthur again, Merlin knew he had to nip this in the bud before he gave into the fantasy of it being Arthur who stood before him and not some stranger and begged him to stay.

It was not Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot, and the man he’d lost more than a millennium ago. It was just an intruder come to destroy what was left of Merlin’s peace of mind.

“And if you find what you are looking for, what then? Turn this into some kind of Disneyesque travesty? Knights selling mead and cheap trinkets made in China? King Arthur pulling the sword from the stone twice a day to cheering tourists?” Merlin frowned and shook his head. That was the last thing he wanted. “No.”

Drake seemed taken aback at his adamant refusal. There was a hint of frustration in his eyes, but his voice, political and polite, was steady. “Mr Emrys, of course not. You would have the final say in how the property would be used. But there is clearly a large fortification under the forest clutter, and it looks ancient, possibly pre-William the Conqueror, perhaps even close to the legendary King Arthur’s era.” When Merlin scowled at him, Drake pressed forward. “My specialty is Arthurian legend and I’ve been searching for years for a link to an actual person. This location is perfectly situated for such a warlord, and there are strong indications that something is here, beyond the typical castle keep.”

There was even the same passion as Arthur’s, the same drive in his eyes, uncomfortably so. For the merest moment, Merlin wondered if having Drake there every day would be heaven or a constant reminder of what he’d lost, a living ghost eating away at the remains of the husk Merlin had become. That thought only solidified Merlin’s resolve.

“I said no.” 

Drake stepped back, frowning at Merlin’s answer. Then nodding to himself as if coming to a conclusion all too inevitable, he said, “If it is money you want, I’ve access to a large stipend and I’m sure Pendragon Inc. would be glad to….”

“You want to bribe me?”

Merlin was furious. What a shit thing to suggest, that he could be bought, that he’d give in for mere money. But in the back of his mind, he was eager, too. It would appear that Arthur Drake was associated with Pendragon Inc, a name that had come down through the centuries intact. Arthur’s name.

If only this man, looking so much like his Arthur, showed any spark of the man he’d loved and lost so many years ago.

Instead, before him stood a stranger, a man trying to persuade Merlin to give up the only thing he had left after centuries of waiting. The last remnants of Arthur and his Camelot.

“Mr Emrys, please.” When he saw that Merlin was adamant, Drake stopped, then taking a deep breath, let it out. Even his stance changed from assured to supplicant, his shoulders hunched in so that he seemed smaller somehow, more human.

He looked at Merlin, then coming to some kind of decision, said, “I’ve been chasing a dream of finding Camelot for years, ever since I was a child. The legends of Arthur and his knights, of his wizard mentor… I’ve read every book, chased down every hint, followed the timeline of the legends back and back. As near as I can tell, everything centres on this location. And from the extent of ruins, it would make sense that Camelot or whatever Camelot once was is here. All I want is to….”

Merlin interrupted him, “Destroy it?”

For a moment, his eyes blinking rapidly as he stepped back, looking as if he’d been struck, Drake didn’t say anything. Then slowly, carefully, he said, “It is true that the ruins would not be the same once we were done, but what information we’d glean would be invaluable. If we did find something that would point to this location as that of Camelot, you would have enough money to rebuild it, should you so desire. To bring back the glory of the golden age of chivalry in tangible form.”

“And while you are reaping the rewards, this place would be overrun with tour buses, charlatans pretending to find ley lines and magic, bringing debris and chaos to my home. Because you and I both know that any find of that size would be impossible to keep quiet. Especially anything to do with King Arthur. The workers would talk. And I can’t imagine you would keep it quiet, either. There would be too much at stake, and the find of the century would certainly be quite a prize.” Merlin knew he was being an arse, but with Arthur or rather Drake talking about chivalry and golden ages, the loss seemed almost overwhelming.

“Mr Emrys, I know it sounds….”

“No. Now get off my property before I let loose the dogs on you.” Frowning, Drake seemed taken aback at Merlin’s vehemence. If truth be told, Merlin was as surprised as Drake seemed to be.

But he didn’t protest, just let out another long, frustrated sigh. Taking out a small card, he thrust it into Merlin’s hands, Merlin’s gnarled old-man hands. “Should you change your mind, I’ll be at the Rising Sun Inn in Camelford for a few days. You can leave a message there.” And with that, he turned around and started walking down toward the lane.

Merlin couldn’t look away. He watched as Drake grew smaller and smaller. His magic mutinous, his heart aching to run after Arthur and beg him to stay, but instead, he just stood there, silent, as Drake finally faded into the shadows of old trees and ruined walls.

It grew quiet again, a whisper of leaves in the air, the soft cooing of doves, but nothing human, nothing of banter and laughter and love that had once crowded the halls of Camelot.

For a moment, Merlin closed his eyes, thinking that he’d been a fool, then trying hard to shrug his confusion aside as he reminded himself that there had been nothing of Arthur in the man, only the outward appearance. That was not enough, would never be enough for Merlin.

Then he looked down at the card in his hand. There were long letters after Drake’s name, accomplishments of rank and experience. But that wasn’t what caused Merlin’s heart to race.

On the card, a dragon in gold on a red background was emblazoned there. The Pendragon crest.

The last time Merlin had seen such a thing had been in the final days of Camelot. Yes, there had been similar things since, but never so exact a replica, never the exact same crest as Arthur’s had been. 

Until now.

Merlin tossed and turned all night, waking whenever the house creaked or there was a tap-tap-tap of branches against the window. Outside, an owl was hooting hard, not the best of omens. The wind moaned in the trees sounding like lost souls, or the cries of men Merlin had killed over the years, or the echoes of his own grief.

After a while, surrendering, he rose up, and pulled the curtains back. The moon above was bright and cold, full of portends, its light spilling across the lawn like a plague. The ruins beyond were a clutter of darkness and ghost white.

He turned away, thinking to try once again to rid himself of worry and sink back into sleep, but as he glanced down, he could see the shadows of the windowpane stark against his bed, looking as if it were a black and white cage ready to swallow him up.

Merlin shuddered. He’d seen too much of cages in his long, long life. And while he knew it was only his mind playing tricks, he wasn’t about to climb back into bed and let those shadows imprison him.

Sighing, he flung a robe on, shoved his feet into warm fur-lined slippers, then shambled his way down to the kitchen, thinking to make a cup of tea at least. But as he went past the window, looking out again, he saw the moon had shifted. It was now bathed one of the towers in light, a beacon in the darkness.

It was Arthur’s tower, the one where once they had laughed and bickered and forged bonds stronger than death.

It was calling to him now. It had been calling ever since Drake arrived to disturb his peace. The tower was pulling him out of the house and across that cold lawn and into the crumbling ruin of his life.

He couldn’t refuse. Instead, he found a wool shawl, then opened the door. He stumbled his way through the woods, into the citadel and the courtyard’s crumbling staircase which led up to Arthur’s old rooms. Merlin could see the memory of his past life shaping the air.

Letting loose his magic, the air seemed to solidify, turned back into stone and wood as the illusion castle rose up into the sky. And as the moon climbed high and then set behind the far hills, sitting on the ruined stairs, Merlin played with spells he’d learned over the long years, turning remembrance into reality.

As he sat there, as he let the liquid language of magic slip into the night, as he watched the way the castle seemed to shudder back into what it had once been, a small part of him rejoiced. Camelot, the beginning and ending of his life, made whole again. If only for a little while.

Merlin relaxed, ignoring the warnings of caution and stealth forever on his mind, and tried to pretend that Arthur was calling him, that if he wanted, he’d scramble up the stairs to find his king ready to berate and banter and call him an idiot.

Looking up toward Arthur’s window, Merlin could almost see memory-Arthur looking down at him, the glint of firelight turning his hair to gold, a smile on the prat’s face. Merlin wanted to smile back, wanted it to be real at long last.

But it wasn’t real.

Merlin stared up, a long, long time, watching the memory-Arthur gazing back at him, a thousand remembered conversations replaying in his head. It was only with the beginnings of dawn, the silence broken by birdsong, all that happiness, false as it had been, leached away, and Merlin was left alone, cold, surrounded by tumbled ruins. 


	2. Chapter 2

In the end, Merlin couldn’t leave well enough alone. He knew that he should ignore the Pendragon logo on Drake’s card, tantalizing as it was, and hope that the man would finally give up and leave him alone. But the memory of those blue eyes was its own siren call, and in the end, Merlin could no more avoid another meeting than the sea could ignore the shore. It was as impossible as it was inevitable. 

Merlin wasn’t going to make it easy.

After changing his appearance to a younger self, it didn’t take long for Merlin to find Drake. The inn where Drake was staying at was in the heart of the village and the pub there usually packed with people who wanted a pint, or more importantly, gossip. 

It wasn’t any different now. As Merlin looked around, he spotted Drake sitting at a table, looking as if he were king and the crowd around him peasants asking for a boon. He also recognised the cluster of men around him, arguing and laughing as they pointed to something on the table. 

As Merlin cleared his throat, however, the men seemed to melt away, some grabbing what looked like bits of metal or stone carvings from the table. Others looked more defiant but backed off when Merlin glared at them.

Drake looked up at Merlin, frowning a little, watching as the villagers left. 

When Merlin and Drake were alone, Merlin looked down to see a wealth of artefacts from Camelot: spear heads, fragments of rusted chainmail, sword hilts, and one intact sword, heavily pitted. There were pottery shards and carvings, even a coin worn so thin that the imprint on it was unrecognizable. All of it came from Merlin’s property.

Apparently, Merlin hadn’t set the wards properly. The children and curiosity-seekers had been busy.

When Merlin stared down at Drake, the prat didn’t mumble out an apology. He just looked curious, then began to rearrange the items on the table, picking them up, then putting them down carefully. At least, he was handling them with the reverence they deserved. “Have you something for me?” Drake said.

Merlin leaned over, his hands sweeping across the air, gesturing at the relics. “I see you trade in stolen artefacts.” He slapped the table, a sharp annoyed sound. “I wouldn’t have expected it, but it’s good to know who I’m dealing with.”

Drake flushed, scowling. He looked as furious as ever Merlin had seen Arthur in all their years together. “How dare you!”

Staring down at him, Merlin said, “Well, the spearhead in your hand was found on Emrys property as well as the hilts of both swords and some of the carvings. How else would you characterize it?”

Drake looked pole-axed. His flush deepened, and then faded into a horrified pale colour. He put down the spearhead, then gestured for Merlin to sit. As Merlin slid down onto a chair opposite Drake, Drake said, “Tom Smith said that his children found them in the woods. Should I doubt him?”

Merlin shook his head. It was to be expected. Those kids were too curious by half. “His children are… inquisitive. My uncle has chased them off his property more than once.”

Staring at Merlin a moment, his eyes sharp and assessing, Drake said, “Your uncle?”

“Merlin Emrys.” Merlin nodded when Drake looked sceptical. “I am also Merlin Emrys. Named after him as have several in my family over the centuries.” Drake narrowed his eyes, looking as if he thought Merlin was having him on. But Merlin couldn’t let it go. He’d missed insulting his prat, and if Drake was a poor second, then so be it. “I’m sure that we look so much alike that it could be difficult for you to tell us apart but do try and keep up.”

There was a hint of amusement there, Drake’s mouth starting to curl in a smile, but he turned serious again. “Do you enjoy insulting me, Mr Emrys?”

“Yes, I believe I do.” Merlin leaned back, relaxing a little. This, he could handle. This he could enjoy, if only for a little while.

Squaring his shoulders, lifting his chin even as he scowled a little at Merlin, Drake said, “I’ll have you know that I was first in my debating club at Oxford.”

A clear challenge, the prat as boastful as ever, his words seemed to flood the air with memories.

Merlin refused to laugh, but it was a near thing. Instead, a warm longing, almost a pleasant ache, one he’d not felt in centuries, settled underneath his breastbone.

“Trained for it since birth, have we?” Merlin said.

Blinking rapidly, Drake looked confused for a moment, but then he shook it off, nodding to Merlin. “Not quite since birth, although I am sure my sister would disagree.”

The old Arthur, the Arthur of Camelot and legend, would have been more forceful, would have been more of a wanker, but this one was not. Or else he was hiding it well. 

Merlin let his disappointment go. He needed more information anyway. Abandoning whatever game they’d been playing, Merlin said, “I’ve heard sisters can be disagreeable at times. Is she also an archaeologist?”

Drake gave a little snort. “Not likely. Unless six-inch spiked heels were de rigueur in the trenches.” When Merlin shook his head, thinking of heels and the stain of archaeological mud and how very much the two did not mix, Drake shrugged his shoulders. “Eleanor is a fashion model, owns her own line of clothing, too, and is starting up a make-up line as well. And will likely follow my father’s footsteps into politics eventually.”

Another echo of the past. But Merlin simply said, “And you will not?”

“My father’s disappointment is ever present, but no.” Merlin sat there, one eyebrow raised, waiting. It seemed to work. Drake nodded, rolled his eyes a moment, then settled back. “When I was a child, I was ob… interested in the Arthurian legends. My name, of course, and the family crest, and then as I learned more, the mystery of it.”

When Merlin didn’t interrupt, instead waved a hand to encourage him further, Arthur leaned forward, growing more excited as he said, “The time of King Arthur’s reign according to the historians varies from the 400s to the 1100s. Then there are the knights in shining armour and jousts and quests. The way the names twisted and changed, the legends, too. There are locations all over the UK, you know, even into France, which claim Arthur. It’s like a giant puzzle with most of the pieces missing or torn beyond recognition.” 

Merlin nodded. “And you want to put those pieces together.”

“Yes, more than anything.” Arthur was almost dazzling in how passionate he was.

For a moment, Merlin didn’t say anything. His careful seeds of legend and misinformation had worked, the puzzle muddied over the centuries, and now, only now, with all the scientific paraphernalia and electronic wizardry at the fingertips of a persistent adversary, would that puzzle be revealed.

Yet, it would seem that Drake wasn’t in it for the glory after all. No bounty hunter sitting before him, but someone who might understand what Merlin had done and accepted it if he knew. 

The knot in his chest loosened just a little.

But there was one part of the puzzle Arthur hadn’t mentioned. “And the magic, all that talk of wizards and pointy hats?”

Arthur laughed, smirking a little. “To ignorant peasants, magic was a given. We know better now.”

Merlin tried to sound as sceptical as Arthur had, but it wasn’t in him. Instead he simply nodded.

“Yes, we know better.”

Arthur beamed at that, perhaps thinking that they were on the same page about Arthurian legend and magic and the century-laden stories of derring-do. He leaned forward, eager again. “And that is why I would like to survey your uncle’s property. Every puzzle piece I’ve locked down, every clue I’ve chased, points to this location as Camelot. If only I could make your uncle understand how important it is.”

Merlin knew that he was going to agree to Drake’s request when Merlin entered the pub. He’d known when he first saw that golden hair and the tantalizing blue of his eyes. No matter how much he wanted to fight it, he could never say no to Arthur. But still he wouldn’t give in too easily.

“He understands more than you realise.” Merlin said.

Smile growing wider, almost as if he sensed surrender, Arthur said, “If you could put in a good word for me, at least get him to let me walk the property, I would be very grateful.”

“And say you find out this was Camelot, what would you do then? My uncle feels that you’d exploit it, that it would solidify your career, and you could go off to greater glories and leave us to pick up the pieces.”

Arthur pointed down to the spearhead on the table, then picked it up and gave it to Merlin. “He would have complete control of his property, of course.” As Merlin turned the weapon over in his hand, Arthur said, “I won’t deny that it could make my career, but that’s not why I’m here. I just want to know whether it was _real_ or not.”

That much was obvious. It shone in his eyes and the eagerness of his hands.

“If you discover it is real?” Merlin dropped the spearhead back into Arthur’s palm.

As his hand curled around the weapon, protective and gentle, Arthur’s smile turned dazzling. “It has been my life’s work up to now. If it is Camelot, I’d devote the rest of my life to it and count it worthwhile.”

It wasn’t easy. Merlin wasn’t going to let this Arthur walk all over him, certainly not when it came to Camelot. They argued long and hard about the parameters, who would have final say, how any information would be released.

But there was one thing on which Merlin refused to budge, no matter how much Arthur insisted on it.

Only Arthur was allowed onto the property. He could bring in as much gear as he liked, but no bulldozers, no heavy equipment, nothing to drastically change the landscape. And if he needed additional personnel, Merlin would be on hand to help.

Arthur didn’t look happy about it. Of course, Merlin didn’t tell him that he’d been on digs before in the centuries since Camelot: with John Aubrey at Avebury, had argued with Stukeley at Stonehenge, and about techniques and timelines with Cunnington in Wiltshire. He’d even gone abroad, to Carter in Egypt, to Petrie in Palestine, before coming home. He knew probably as much as Arthur about the history of Britain – having lived through it, but in the last centuries, he’d settled back into Camelot, and wandered into other interests. So, although he wasn’t up on the latest techniques, he knew his stuff. It’s just that Arthur didn’t know that Merlin knew more than he was letting on.

That was nothing new really. Arthur hadn’t known his true worth in Camelot either, not until it was far too late.

But Drake had little choice in the matter. His options were acceptance or nothing, and while this Arthur might be as stubborn as Merlin’s Arthur, he was also intelligent enough to know when he was defeated. Not that he didn’t grumble about it, but then the old Arthur was a grumbler, too.

It was only on the first day of the dig that Merlin found out just how much Arthur wanted to know about the site.

Pulling up with a lorry full of equipment, as Merlin looked on, Arthur got out and then using his laptop, climbing into the back, he seemed to be checking items off a list. From what Merlin could see as he peered in, Arthur had assembled quite a bit of equipment, all organised into labelled compartments.

It was impressive. Sometimes, even with government backing, the basics were all that were available, hand-tools, sometimes a backhoe if the archaeological team was lucky. But Arthur had managed to get his hands on the latest in technology.

Had Arthur tapped his father for the money or was there someone else footing the bill? In any case, Arthur had found a way to amass some serious tools. He looked fully prepared for an intense and thorough survey.

And Merlin felt a little guilty about it. After all, he had no intention of letting Drqke publish his work, no matter what they’d agreed to. He’d find a way to reimburse him somehow, once this was done. But it didn’t make it any less ungenerous, even heartless, to let Arthur think that he might have discovered Camelot and then take it away from him again.

For a fleeting moment, he wondered what his Arthur would think of him. Merlin was acting dishonourably, unworthy of Arthur’s regard. But the centuries had hardened Merlin, his unending grief layering stone upon stone until the walls around his heart were citadel-thick. He hoped that his Arthur would have understood.

Shaking off the melancholy, Merlin turned to Drake, nodded toward the lorry. “I see you are prepared for quite a campaign.”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m prepared for a great many things, including you getting in my way.”

“I might surprise you, Dr Drake.” Merlin lifted one eyebrow, letting Arthur see just how amused he was by Arthur’s assumptions. The man had no idea.

“Well, we shall see, won’t we, Mr Emrys.” Arthur sent him a look, a measuring gaze as if Arthur were trying to fathom him out, as if trying to see just how seriously he should take Merlin.

It warmed Merlin to see it. It had been too long since he’d traded barbs with anyone, never mind someone who reminded him so much of the past. At first, he tried to project innocence, then giving it up under Arthur’s obviously sceptical gaze, Merlin grinned back. “Name’s Merlin, Dr Drake. And I think you _will_ … see.”

Arthur nodded, clearly amused. “A challenge, then?” He seemed to be enjoying the repartee.

“Are you up for it? Because I certainly am.” Merlin could feel the dimple in his cheek deepen. This was more fun than he’d had in quite some time.

“We’ll surprise each other then.” With that, Arthur snapped his laptop shut. “I’ve set up a schedule that shouldn’t be too gruelling for you. Data collection at first, drone surveillance and then a more in-depth survey. I’d like to get started as soon as possible.”

Merlin had expected no less. As he turned, gesturing for Arthur to follow him, he said, “I’ve cleared out a bedroom for you and a workshop. It should suit your needs while you are here.”

Arthur shook his head, but walked beside him anyway, his gaze intense on his surroundings, seemingly eager to begin. “I’ve rooms at the inn in the village.”

Merlin stopped at that, nodded toward the gate. “The village is inconvenient at best. If you are more comfortable there, then by all means, but you will find that we aren’t exactly primitive here. Fast internet, actual hot water, and a comfortable bed. The workshop has several flat surfaces to lay out any finds that might be of interest. My uncle was a collector of sorts, so he has tools for cleaning and display.” Merlin knew it was a bad idea to have Arthur so near, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. Arthur was a temptation that Merlin was apparently unable to resist.

Arthur stopped, too, looking toward the house. “Is he here? I’d like to thank him for the opportunity.”

“My uncle is… traveling at the moment. So, I’m afraid it’s just me.” Pushing the door open, he gestured Arthur in. “Now, Dr Drake, would you like to see your rooms?”

“Lead the way. And I’m Arthur.”

Merlin knew that. If only his head would ignore what his heart was telling him, he might be better off. But then, he never did listen. “Welcome to Kilgharrah House.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dr Drake did seem rather impressed with the four-poster bed, the antiques, and the very modern ensuite, but his face really lit up when he saw the workshop in what used to be the barn. Merlin had modelled it on the latest configurations for an archaeological dig command centre, and while Arthur didn’t know how much Merlin worked with scientists in the past, Arthur certainly seemed delighted with it.

Pointing out the storage, shelves, and labelling system, the extra hand tools a proper dig would need, Merlin couldn’t help but notice that Arthur was itching to try his hand at the computer and large screen centred on one wall.

Merlin gestured toward the desk. “Password is ‘i am a clotpole’, no caps. I’ve set up an archive program for you to use, but of course, you may have your own system so feel free to put it onto our network. I assure you, we aren’t primitive here. I have 12 terabytes of backup memory available on the computer. Just in case.”

“A clotpole? Really, Merlin?” Arthur sounded as if he was both appalled and trying hard not to laugh at the absurdity of it. But as he typed in the password and the system booted up, Arthur said, “How did you… this is the archival program I use.”

Shrugging, not wanting to let Arthur know that his magic had found it when Merlin had searched for the perfect program, that it had felt so right when he’d loaded it up that it had almost seemed like old times, a gift for his beloved king, Merlin said, “Lucky guess. There were several options. I thought you’d want the most recent.”

“That was generous.” Arthur’s fingers were flying across the keyboard, exploring all the options. But he was frowning, too, looking at the screen.

“We’re not living in the Middle Ages, Dr Drake.” Merlin said it, trying to keep it light, as if it were a joke. “The internet can be a wondrous thing.”

Arthur stopped at that, turned to face Merlin. “Did you contact my office about this?”

Merlin didn’t like the tone in his voice. Too suspicious by half. And his magic had tripped him up… again. “Look, Dr Drake…, Arthur, it really is only a coincidence. I did a fair amount of internet searching and this system came up as the best option. If you object, then of course, we can move your own computer into the work room. It’s completely up to you.”

Sitting there, looking up at Merlin who was trying not to fidget, Arthur finally said, “Thank you. It’s a generous gift, but I’ll be using my own equipment for the survey.”

More suspicion and all the laughter were gone from Arthur’s face. Merlin had made a mistake, once again. He’d forgotten how underhanded archaeologists could be, as in all competitive sciences, and now Arthur was on alert.

But then it was not unexpected. After all, Merlin planned on betraying him in the end.

“Of course.” When Arthur stared at him, Merlin sighed, then said, “Would you like some help moving your equipment before you begin surveying the property? I’m stronger than I look.”

“That will not be necessary, Mr Emrys.” Arthur stood, then gestured toward the door. “My equipment is light-weight. I will move it myself.”

And that was that.

Arthur was silent as he settled in. Merlin was surprised that he’d agreed to stay after that fiasco with the computer program. Merlin assumed that Arthur had an encrypted password on his laptop and most of the heavier equipment remained in the locked lorry anyway. Only lightweight hand tools that could be bought anywhere, bins for storage, labels, trowels, and string were placed into the shelves. Merlin knew that the workshop would soon be filled with bits and pieces as Arthur walked the site. Merlin only hoped that he could salvage their relationship, slight as it was.

Letting Arthur alone for a while, he went and made some tea. Thinking that he could make amends somehow, when the scones were done, and the tea perfectly brewed, he knocked on the workshop’s closed door. As Arthur opened it, Merlin breezed past him, setting the tray down by the window. “I thought you might like some refreshment.”

Merlin glanced over, staring at Arthur’s open laptop for a moment, then he busied himself with being the perfect host. “I wasn’t sure if you preferred tea or coffee.” He poured the tea into a cup and handed it to Arthur.

Looking confused, Arthur frowned down a moment at the teacup in his hand, then said, “Mr Emrys….”

“Merlin, please.” He gave Arthur a grin, one of his best idiotic looks, honed to perfection over the centuries, and tried to look harmless.

“Merlin, then.” Arthur sent him a slight smile back, then he seemed more embarrassed than anything else. Putting down the tea undrunk, Arthur said, “I must apologise for any confusion. Your offer of computer equipment is generous, more than generous, but I would be liable for any damaged property and the trust’s liability insurance wouldn’t cover it, not when I have my own equipment. Plus, I… I prefer to keep my findings under my control.”

“Understood.” Merlin did understand. Most scientists were generous with their time and data, but he’d had a few run-ins with those who were less so.

Taking up a scone, slathering jam and clotted crème onto the end, and taking a large bite, he paused a moment to savour the taste. He’d learned many things over the years and making the perfect scone was one of them.

Finally, swallowing, watching Arthur watch him as he licked his lips to chase the last crumb, Merlin said, “if you don’t mind, I would like to show you around first. There are some areas that are unstable, a few walls that are a bit… precarious, and of course, there is the cave.”

“There’s a cave?” Arthur looked startled, then frowning, he said, “You don’t mean a dungeon, do you? Under the ruins?”

Giving a little laugh, amusement in his voice, Merlin said, “There is certainly a dungeon.” Merlin had become acquainted with the cells under the castle when he was Arthur’s servant – and escaped more times than he could count from them, too.

“But no, I’m talking about a cave, a large one. I think it’s better you see it first and then you can decide how to handle it. It will likely change some of your magnetometer results.”

Arthur blinked at that, clearly surprised. “You know what a magnetometer is?”

“Measures variation in magnetic fields. Good for seeing beneath the surface.” Arthur’s eyes widened and his mouth was open as if gobsmacked when Merlin said, “Fast, relatively easy to use. No need for a team. A single person can use one with the right setup.”

For a moment, Arthur said nothing. He just stood there, staring at Merlin, then shook himself free of whatever was bothering him. “You surprise me. I wouldn’t have thought you were knowledgeable in archaeological techniques.”

Merlin sent him a gormless smile. “I am a man of many talents.” And then he took another bite out of his scone.

Tea drunk, scones now mere crumbs, with Arthur trailing him, Merlin walked to the siege tunnel entrance at the bottom of the hill. Lighting a torch, Merlin gestured for Arthur to follow. He wasn’t about to show Arthur the main part of the castle ruins, not just yet, and at least the siege tunnels were intact.

The stairs to the cave were still there, although mostly covered in crumbled ruins, and off to one side, were the remains of the dungeons. Merlin could see that Arthur was itching to explore them, but he had to admit he was curious about Arthur’s reaction to the cave.

He pressed on. “Careful of the stairs. The left wall has been wobbling lately and I’m not sure how much longer it will hold up.” He looked back, catching Arthur’s eye. “It’s not far.”

“I have hard hats in the lorry in case we need them.”

“No need. It’s just here.” Merlin pushed open the door, then walked out onto the ledge. There was a gasp behind him.

The cave never failed to both impress and depress him. It was here that Merlin learned of his destiny, here that the dragon became both mentor and manipulator to a naïve farm boy, it was here that Merlin grew up. And it was here that Merlin lost himself for a while after Arthur’s death, burying himself deep in the earth and wishing that the cave walls would crumble around him and bring him a final peace. But it was not to be.

Shrugging off the melancholy, he could hear Arthur stumbling forward, the man slipping a little on the wet stone as he caught up with Merlin.

Beside him, Merlin could hear another sharp inhale as the light of Arthur’s torch lifted and then washed across the rock face before disappearing into the vast space beyond. In the distance, there was the faintest of light from a secondary exit, the one Kilgharrah used to escape all those years ago, but it seemed miles away.

For a moment, there was silence. Then Merlin picked up a pebble and lobbed it over the edge. The sound of it hitting the rock walls as it fell into the depths, down, down, down, echoed into the vastness. Finally, finally, the stone splashed into an unseen pool far below.

“How is it that this is not on any map? How could any building not have collapsed into this long ago?” Arthur whispered.

“Magic,” Merlin said.

“Magic?” Arthur gave a huff of laughter, but when Merlin remained silent, Arthur turned to him. “Please don’t tell me that you actually believe in magic.”

Merlin should have made a joke of it, should have told Drake that of course he didn’t believe in something as ridiculous as magic. But he couldn’t.

Perhaps his heart was yearning to connect with an Arthur that had lived and breathed in a magical world, had seen what magic could do, had known that magic was as tangible as stone. Perhaps he wanted this Arthur to accept him, too, as his Arthur had once done in the last days of their lives together.

Or perhaps his Arthur had been right, and Merlin was just an idiot.

Spreading his arms wide across the vista, Merlin said, “Can’t you feel it in this place? It's as if the world is vibrating. As if everything is so much more than itself.”

“It’s stunning, I’ll grant you that, but I am a scientist, not someone who believes in fairy tales and legends,” Arthur said, frowning.

Merlin was suddenly tired of it all. He’d hoped that Arthur would understand, at least a little. “And yet here you are, chasing a legend. A legend based on magic.”

Shaking his head, Arthur said, “A legend that may have been based in fact. And the ruins above us are not magical, they are stones and mortar, put together with human strength and human ingenuity, not some mystical power that defies all logic.”

“Believe what you will. You always did.” Merlin turned away, started going back up the stairs. Behind him, Arthur was rushing to catch up. 

“What do you mean, I always did?”

“Look, Dr Drake, I’m tired and with my uncle away seeing to his other properties, it falls to me to oversee the estate.” Trying to hide his disappointment, after all, Merlin should have known better, he said, “If you want, we can stop and look at the dungeons before you begin your survey.”

Merlin kept climbing the stairs. Behind him, Arthur stopped, the light from his torch swinging down toward the darkened cavern for a moment. An ordinary man would have stopped, too, and waited for Arthur to catch up, but Merlin had a thousand years of memories, a thousand years to learn every stumble in the gloom, and he’d had enough.

Every moment he was with Arthur was like a stab in the gut. Merlin kept beginning to hope, and then this Arthur, this Dr Drake, would bring it all crashing down again. Drake would remind him just how alone Merlin was.

He kept going, up, up. Merlin didn’t even turn when Dr Drake caught up with him near the top of the stairs. “Merlin…, Mr Emrys, please stop.”

When Merlin stood there, waiting for someone who would never come, Drake said, “I am sorry if I offended you. You caught me by surprise.” Drake waved his torch down the stairs, then back up toward the exit. “I hope my reaction won’t cause any problems. I would hate a minor disagreement to spoil our working relationship in this endeavour.”

“If you mean, will I kick you off the property because you don’t think magic is real, then no, Dr Drake. It is foolishness on my part. Best forgotten.”

Merlin gestured for him to move forward, then closed the door behind him, and locked it with a ridiculously oversized key. It wasn’t needed, of course. After all, magic kept it sealed, with a power that Dr Drake laughed at. But appearances, after all, had their uses. If this Arthur wanted to deny magic, then who was Merlin to tell him otherwise.

When Arthur didn’t say anything else, Merlin said, “The dungeons are this way, Dr Drake. Please follow me.” 

The dungeons were still impressive enough. They’d not fallen into total ruin, and Merlin had kept one of them relatively intact. A foolish reminder of days past. But while Drake poked and hummed his way around the cells, both interested and seemingly worried about Merlin’s mood, it didn’t stop the man from snapping a few pictures with his camera and taking notes.

It was clear that Drake had a lot on his mind and Merlin let him be. When Merlin indicated that he’d needed to attend to other matters, with a single nod, Drake turned away and began to type furiously on his tablet. He didn’t even look up when Merlin opened the cell door and walked away.

It was a relief to them both, it would seem.

Dr Drake didn’t approach him for the rest of the day. Merlin offered him supper, but Arthur waved him off, saying that he was eager to get started and he would just make a sandwich and not to bother.

But when night came, Merlin could hear him pacing upstairs, back and forth, and there was the sound of a muffled voice complaining, a one-sided conversation.

Merlin should have left well enough alone. After all, logic would dictate that he shouldn’t interact with the man any more than necessary. But Merlin couldn’t seem to help himself.

His was an old house with hidden rooms and corridors that had been opened and closed over the years and tunnels that led to caves where treasure and magical relics were concealed. Secret places where conversations could be overheard, and passageways, too, useful through the centuries to evade mobs bent on finding the magic user or witch or troublemaker. He’d been all of those, being more troublemaker than anything else, and he’d used the tunnels many times.

Merlin kept walking, kept going toward Arthur’s voice, but quietly, tiptoeing down the hall like a shadow.

Merlin kept telling himself that he wanted to know what Arthur was doing — for the protection of Camelot. To hear if he was plotting something, if he were trying to get around their agreement. He wasn’t sure he could trust Arthur, even though he felt instinctively that he could.

But his instincts had been a bit rusty of late and he was more unsure of what he was feeling than he had been in a long, long time. It didn’t help that the guilt was ever-present. Or was it melancholy or hope or a sad mixture of all three beating in his chest? So many things driving him on. 

Still, for Camelot’s sake, Merlin would do what he must.

Arthur’s voice got more distinct the closer Merlin got. Merlin refused to spy on Arthur. He did have some ethics after all, but listening was another matter.

There was a small grate high in the corridor which amplified Drake’s voice. Merlin settled in, leaning against the wall, listening.

Drake was saying, “Look, Lance, I’m telling you that Emrys is a bit off. He believes in magic after all, and that would normally be enough for me to write him out of the picture. As you know, I don’t suffer fools lightly. But…” He moved away a little, and he was eating something so the next few words were indistinct. “I know, I know. I’ll overlook it, but there is something about him. I can’t quite put my finger on it.”

There were a few moments of silence, then Drake said, “No, I’m not getting interested… well, yes I am but not in the way you think. He’s not my type.” A laugh and the crunch of something, an apple perhaps. “No, Vivian’s not my type either. She was just someone my father foisted on me. We didn’t even like each other. As soon as she realised I wasn’t about to shower her with expensive presents, she found someone else to annoy.”

Footsteps coming closer and Merlin could almost feel the heat of Arthur’s skin. He was right on the other side of the wall and Merlin tried not to breathe or move or do anything that would let Arthur know just how close he was. If he found out that Merlin had been spying on him, it could turn very ugly.

“Look, Lance, my heart was bruised, yes, but it’s been over a year and he has moved on. I should have known better than to trust Lothian.”

The wall creaked. It was as if Arthur were leaning on it, right there, right by Merlin’s heart. Arthur said, “And don’t be setting me up with someone else. I’ll find my own partner, thank you very much…. And yes, Emrys is intriguing, but it’s a job, Lance. A job. And he’s also the guy that’s keeping me from maybe making the greatest discovery in archaeology since Carter found Tutankhamen’s tomb.”

In the distance, the grandfather clock was chiming eleven. “Look, I’ll try and talk Emrys into letting you come. I think he’s not bad once you get past the prickly exterior… and the magic.” He gave another laugh. “No, there’s no magic. Come on. No one believes that…. Well except from some crackpots down in Glastonbury. Warlocks and dragons and flying on brooms. That’s Harry Potter nonsense, not reality.” He stopped a moment, then said, “I’ll call you tomorrow and let you know if Emrys will allow it. But don’t get your hopes up. He’s pretty stubborn when it comes down to it. Talk to you later.”

With that, the wall creaked again, and Merlin could hear Arthur walking away.

Merlin stood there a moment, seething. Crackpot indeed.

He would show Arthur just how much of a crackpot he was.


	4. Chapter 4

Drake was sombre the next morning, nodding to Merlin as they both settled into breakfast. Frowning down at his phone, Drake seemed to be intent on work, occasionally biting at his lip, and sneaking a glance at Merlin when he must have thought Merlin wasn’t looking.

Finally, putting the phone down, Arthur said, “I would like to bring in an artefact preservation expert when the need arises.” Before Merlin could open his mouth to object, Arthur said, “He would be under the same restrictions as I am, but while I am competent at setting up and maintaining a dig, Dr DuLac has a much defter hand at conservation. I would hope you would see the need for preserving anything we found.”

Merlin knew that the more people involved, the harder it would be to keep Camelot a secret. He had no intention of letting anyone else in. But it wouldn’t hurt to agree initially and see what happened. After all, Merlin knew every nook and cranny, and everything of value was already hidden away in the caves. A few spearheads wouldn’t make any difference.

But he was still stinging from being labelled a crackpot, and more importantly, Arthur looked as Merlin remembered his Arthur in the morning — glorious and golden in the light —and it hurt to see him so close and yet a stranger. Merlin said, “If I bend on this issue, how do I know that you won’t try to bring in a whole team? This is my home. I won’t have it overrun, no matter how deft a touch your associate has.”

“I understand your concerns, but I think if you were to meet with Dr DuLac, you might reconsider.”

Merlin looked at him, scowling a little as he did so. “Is he a friend of yours?”

For a second, Merlin thought that Arthur might lie. But Arthur only nodded. “I’ve known Lance since university days. I’m to be best man at his wedding. If he ever gets around to asking her, and he and his girlfriend…,” Arthur stopped a moment, took a hurried breath, then said, “have been lifesavers at times. But more importantly, he’s an expert in his field. He would be an invaluable asset here.”

“And would you two gang up on me as uni brothers-in-arms often do?”

“Brothers-in-arms?” Arthur blinked confusion, then flashed a smile a moment later. “Ganging up, no, but we did take up sword-fighting in uni, broadswords and sabres, and he was quite good at it… but I was better.”

Merlin remembered Arthur, sweaty and triumphant, a sword in his hand, grinning at Merlin, just as this Arthur was doing now.

Merlin swallowed hard, trying not to reach for Arthur. It was near impossible, but Merlin managed. “First in debating and a swordfighter, too. A bit unusual for a uni student.”

“Not all of us would get pissed every night and go out on the pull. Some of us actually studied.” Arthur looked as if he wanted to say a bit more, but then he stopped.

“No worshiping the toilet god back in some dodgy loo? No heroic rescue by this Lance person from a horde of birds after your trusty trowel?”

Arthur stared at him for a moment, frowning as Merlin mentioned the loo — there was obviously a story there — but when Merlin mentioned the trowel, Arthur gave a snort. “Trusty trowel? That’s quite a way with words you’ve got there.”

Merlin tried not to smile, but it was a near thing. “I attended Oxford a while back.” Then he leaned forward and said, “Which means I also know about loos and getting pissed.”

“And trusty trowels?”

He couldn’t help it. Cheeks heating up, he glanced down past Arthur’s broad shoulders to a muscular thigh straining at workman denims, and forcing himself to look up again, the words strangling in his throat, he said, “That, too.”

For a moment, there was a gleam in Arthur’s eyes. His glance flicked down to Merlin’s mouth, lingered there, then Arthur seemed to shake himself clear of whatever was going through his head, and looked up. 

All too casually, Arthur said, “Which college? I attended Balliol to study archaeology and ancient history. We might have crossed paths at some point.”

Never mind that Merlin had attended Oxford in the mid-1500s, a bit earlier than Arthur.

“I doubt it. Mine was Christ Church. Rival colleges and all. Lots of places to lose oneself. Or hide if necessary.” Merlin hid a lot in those years. The hunt for magic users had been as ferocious as Uther’s madness had been.

With that, Arthur nodded. “I’ve done a bit of hiding myself over the years.” Then clearing his throat, he took one last gulp of tea, and stood. “Please consider letting Dr DuLac work his magic at the site. He’d be an excellent addition.”

“Magic?” Merlin knew he was goading Arthur, but he felt off-balance, wanted to push Arthur away and go hide somewhere and think about what he was doing before it was too late. “I thought you didn’t believe in magic.”

Arthur frowned a little, then shrugged. “A turn of phrase, nothing more. Lance is a bit of a mystic for all his scientific knowledge, but he’s as thorough a scientist as I’ve ever met.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say. Arthur’s eyes were boring into his, looking sincere and eager. And when Arthur looked at him like that, Merlin couldn’t say no.

“I will meet with him first and then decide.” When Arthur grinned and started to thank Merlin, he shook his head. “I can’t promise anything, Dr Drake.”

Arthur said, “You won’t be sorry.”

Merlin already was. 

Merlin wasn’t happy with how easily he gave into Drake’s request. It was ridiculous really. Merlin had the upper hand, and yet Arthur, with his blonde hair and bright eyes, looking so much like his Arthur that it hurt to breathe at times, seemed to be able to shred Merlin’s resolve into nothing with just a few words.

Berating himself for being foolish and weak-willed, he stalked off after breakfast, leaving Drake alone. He spent a good half-hour muttering to himself about idiots and lost hopes and stupidity, even as he pulled up weeds and harvested herbs in his back garden.

When he finally calmed down, he’d ruined more than a few plants. Grumbling, he picked up what little he could save and hung them up to dry in his conservatory. Then realizing it had been a while since he’d seen Arthur, Merlin went looking for him. 

Merlin found him by his lorry. Drake had pulled down a table and was fiddling with a drone and some type of instrument setup.

In the old days, before drones, archaeologists used cranes and airplanes and even balloons to take scans of sites, but drones had revolutionized the process. Cheaper, easier to manipulate, and with digital photography and scanning tools connected, it was a boon for scientific study. And it only took a single person to use it as long as they knew what they were doing.

Obviously, Drake did. The drone was overly large for a toy, but this was no toy, rather a serious use of flight power to photograph the area.

Archaeology had come a long way, it would seem, from tiny brushes and trowels.

As Merlin moved closer, Drake glanced up, then set the camera down. “Ah, Mr Emrys, I’m about to start the drone flights, but now that you are here, perhaps you might indicate out some of the problems I might have with the location, vegetation or a concentration of stone.” Pulling out what looked like a large photograph, he unrolled it and pointed. “I went for a walk after breakfast to scout out the area. The satellite scans are incomplete as you can see.”

“You walked around? Without me?” When Drake just blinked at him, seemingly confused by Merlin’s unhappy tone, Merlin said, “You shouldn’t have done that. You don’t know what you might have come across.”

Drake looked at him a long moment, a frown growing. “I didn’t touch anything if that is what you are implying. I have experience with sites such as this before. I merely wanted to see if there were any issues before I began.”

“I know you’ve experience. I did an extensive search on your credentials before I agreed to let you come on my land.” That seemed to settle Drake a bit, brief disappointment flashing across his face before he nodded, his frown disappearing as Merlin said, “But there are several sink holes in the area and the cave I showed you yesterday has hidden cervices. It would have been very easy for you to fall in and you might not have been found for days.”

“Mr Emrys, I have dealt with caves and fissures and sink holes before. I’m not an idiot.”

The way Arthur said it made Merlin’s heart clench a second. _Idiot_. A word he’d not heard out of Arthur’s mouth in centuries, and ridiculous as it was, he wanted to hear it again and again. And aimed at him. But that was absurd. He’d hated it when Arthur had insulted him all those years ago. To yearn for Arthur to insult him now just didn’t make sense. And yet….

No, he was being too maudlin. Instead, he shook the melancholy off and said, “Of course not, Dr Drake. It’s just that I wouldn’t want to have to fill out the paperwork.” When Arthur looked at him, Merlin shrugged, then gave him his simpleton grin. “For when they pull out your broken body from whatever hellhole you’d fallen into.”

Giving a little huff, almost as if he’d found humour in it after all, Arthur shook his head, then his hand resting on the photo, he said, “I’m sure the paperwork alone would take days.”

Merlin’s smile widened. “Months even. You have no idea. There would be reams of it.”

“We can’t let that happen, can we?” Arthur matched his smile for a moment, then sobered. “I understand your concern, Mr Emrys, but I really do have experience in fragile sites. But in future, if you like, I’ll make sure to let you know where I am or else you can come with me when you are not busy. I can certainly use the help.”

Ignoring the subtle dig at their arrangement, Merlin gave him a little nod. “Two heads are often better than one.”

“I’ve heard.” Arthur didn’t look like he believed it, though. A moment later, he said, “Perhaps you could help me with this.” Arthur looked down, his finger following the outlines of the main keep.

Merlin recognised it immediately. It was a high range photo of Camelot, an overhead shot taken from satellite data. Although the actual ruins were slightly blurred, the rest of the countryside was crystal clear.

“I’ve tried to find a clearer scan in the satellite databases, but they all seem to be distorted. I’ve had to look at older maps, even some old paintings, but the data is either missing or contradictory.” Drake opened his laptop and showed Merlin some of the drawings they’d done in the 1700s of the ruins and then began flipping through his images. “This doesn’t match at all this painting from 1810, nor this photo from 1845, and then the trail disappears entirely by the 20th century. The maps are useless.”

Merlin was happy to see his handiwork had had some effect. He was especially proud of the satellite data. That had taken quite a while to find out where they kept the files and hacking the information had kept him up long nights. Magic and science didn’t exactly go hand in hand. Data manipulation required a light touch. In the end, he’d used the same copying spell that he’d used so very long ago for Lancelot and then overlayered the copies enough to make everything blurry.

Drake was looking at him as if he had some answers. He did, but Merlin wasn’t about to tell him the truth. “It’s quite a mystery. Perhaps the magic of the place confounds the viewer and they see what they want to see.”

“I don’t appreciate being mocked.” Drake looked as if he were sucking a lemon. It was a good look on him, but then Merlin couldn’t imagine he’d have a bad look.

“Dr Drake, I… I’m not mocking you. If nothing else, an artist will paint what he thinks the market will bear. As for the photos, walls do collapse over time.” As Arthur started to speak, Merlin put up one hand to stop him. “I can’t explain the satellite photos, perhaps they had issues with data collection that day, although I have my own theories which I imagine you would wholly discount, but you are here now. I’m sure you will figure it out. Besides, isn’t that what the drone is for?”

Drake stood there for a moment, looking as if he was trying to decide if Merlin was being serious or not. When Merlin just stood there, waiting, he said, “Look, if we are going to be working together, I don’t want to hear about you going on and on about magic. Much as you might believe in it, I’m a scientist. I believe in facts and figures and artefacts that I can see and touch. Real things, not this mystical bollocks. I get enough of that from….” He stopped, narrowing his eyes, then letting out a deep sigh, he said, “Please, I’d like to keep it as professional as possible.”

Nodding, Merlin gave him a little smile, then shrugged. “You are really easy to wind up, you know.” When Drake sent him a death glare at that, Merlin said, “Fine, it’s not a problem. I’ll keep my beliefs to myself. Will that suffice?”

Drake seemed to relax just a trifle, but he still sounded indignant. “Thank you, Mr Emrys.”

“Since we will be working closely together, how about we start again?” Thrusting his hand forward, he said, “I’m Merlin, and if you don’t mind, I’d like very much to call you Arthur. It might make things a bit easier.”

Arthur looked down a moment, then took Merlin’s hand and shook it. Warm, beloved, skin to skin, Merlin felt dizzy with it, his magic singing happily in his chest. But then Arthur let go and the cold emptiness that followed was painful.

“Of course. Only strangers or symposium organisers call me Doctor. Although my sister has more inventive names for me…,” Arthur said, a slight smile flashing across his face, “which I won’t go into. She has quite the vocabulary.”

“I never had a sister although I’ve heard rumours that they are not to be trifled with.” When Arthur nodded, Merlin said, “I did have someone once who used to insult me on a regular basis. We often came up with absurd names for each other. Of course, he turned everything into a competition, even the insults. And though he would be loath to admit it, clotpole that he was, I would usually win.” Merlin looked into Arthur’s very blue eyes, seeing nothing of his Arthur in them. His voice turned melancholy. “I miss him very much.”

“Perhaps you could call him. Invite him down to see what we are doing.”

Merlin could see that Arthur was trying to be helpful, but it just intensified the loneliness, emphasized how much he wasn’t Arthur. Grief caught in his throat and he had to blink back tears.

_Just… just hold me._

Shaking off the memory of that desperate day, Merlin said, “He died. A long time ago.”

Looking very uncomfortable, this Arthur was just as awkward with emotion as his own Arthur had been. Still he tried. “I’m sorry. Losing someone you care about can be hard.”

With that, Merlin nodded. “Yeah, it was. It still is.” But as Arthur fidgeted, looking down at the photo under his hand, and then back up at Merlin, the moment passed.

It didn’t matter anyway. Dr Drake would soon be gone, and Merlin would be alone and mourning the loss all over again.

“What do you need from me, then?” Merlin said.

Arthur brightened. “I’ll be taking images using laser technology this go-around to get an idea of what we are dealing with.” When Merlin frowned, Arthur said, “It makes it easier to see underneath the forest canopy than regular photography. I know that thick forest cover can be a problem, but in those areas not covered by overgrowth, it should be a good choice. It should also go fairly quickly, too. If you could point out to me places that might be a problem for the drone, that would be most helpful. I need to load a flight plan into the UAV. It reduces the time I have to oversee it, but if there are obstacles, I’ll need to know.”

“UAV?” Merlin already knew, but he wasn’t past letting Arthur think him an idiot.

“Unmanned aerial vehicle. The technical term for a drone. We’ve been using them a lot in surveying sites. It’s faster, gives us great insight into where to dig.” Arthur said. “I assumed you would know about them. There was a serious incident at Gatwick Airport with them some time ago.” Arthur turned back to the photo. “In case you were worried, I have permission from the appropriate authorities to fly it here. I hope that won’t be an issue.”

“Not at all. I’m interested in how it all works.” Merlin hadn’t experience with that kind of equipment, he’d stopped going on archaeological digs years ago, but he’d kept up with the technology. It was a kind of magic after all, just one with a scientific basis. But then again, sometimes people would say that science was just magic to the unenlightened. Merlin wasn’t sure they were wrong.

As Arthur perked up, his eagerness to get started clear in the way he was looking at Merlin, Arthur said, “So what issues will we have?”

Merlin liked the sound of ‘we,’ his heart beating hard at that, but he shook off the feeling. It was ridiculous really when this Arthur would leave him, too.

Finger hovering over the large grey blob in the photo, Merlin said, “The keep is large, entirely of stone, but there are parts of the central courtyard that have gaps. The cave I showed you is below it, as are the dungeons. Two of the towers on the far side of the entrance are covered in vines and are falling apart. And the entryway itself….” Merlin moved his hand over another smaller blurred image. “Is not safe although I’ve built a small bridge across the moat to get inside. There is heavy vegetation surrounding most of the ruin.” He leaned over, his hand covering another image. “There used to be a small village here, but it’s been gone for at least three centuries when the collapse of the walls became too great. It is said that the locals would steal blocks for their houses, although my ancestors put a stop to that fairly quickly. But some of the farmers could be remarkably persistent.” Merlin stepped back. “Except for the trees and the height of the one tower, you shouldn’t have a problem with the drone.”

Arthur nodded, smiling. Apparently, he was happy to finally be starting. “Thank you, Merlin. That will be a great help.”

“So, what is next?”

“I have to program in the flight path for the UAV — the drone — and then I’ll have a couple of hours of flight time before recharging.” Arthur seemed to consider this, then said, “Once the drone returns, I will start getting in data and entering it into my system. It will probably take an entire day to finish, but it will be a significant start.”

Merlin stepped back. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

“I’ll have preliminary data this evening. If you like, I can show you.” Arthur gave him a quick smile, and when Merlin nodded, Arthur turned back to his computer. “I’ll see you later.”

Merlin knew a dismissal when he heard one. “Good luck.” And then he walked back toward the house.

He really should have gone inside, ignored Arthur, and taken care of business instead. The companies he owned, partially or wholly, needed oversight and there were several issues that had come up recently. But he couldn’t seem to care.

Instead, he looked out the window, watching Arthur as he fiddled with his computer, then worked on the drone, adjusting things here and there. There was a concentration frown on his face, and once in a while, he’d straighten up, stretching a bit, a hand rubbing at his left side as if in pain.

It hurt to see him down there all alone. Golden hair glinting in the sun and the breadth of shoulders that hinted of a fit body underneath. Arthur was beautiful, but then he always had been, even at his pratiest.

In Merlin’s mind, there was chainmail and bright armour and the dance of horses off in the distance. Gwaine and Percival were at it, swords gleaming in the sun, and Leon laughing, then shouting at them to concentrate. Elyan and Lancelot watching it all, sharing a quiet word between them.

And everywhere Arthur, Arthur, the sound beating in his chest.

He then blinked back into the now and Drake was standing there, lingering over his drone, then pressing a button somewhere, and the machine, with a sharp whine, rose and began to fly off toward the castle.

Arthur didn’t look up. He seemed to focus on his computer screen, oblivious to Merlin’s longing. All business and intensity.

Merlin waited a moment longer, then turned, Arthur’s name still lodged in his heart, and walked away. Behind him, the faint sound of the drone lingered.

In the end, Merlin dove back into getting his business affairs in order. Politics, as always, could affect some of his holdings. Rumblings of a trade deal, and the rise of little wars here and there were putting his manager on edge. But his magic gave him no hint of any major disaster, so he mostly just listened to Victor grumbling before agreeing to most of changes they’d talked about. He did promise to pop up to London to meet with him later in the week.

Logging off, letting old Merlin melt back into his younger self, Merlin gave a sigh.

Normally, he would have been more focused on what was going on. After all, people were relying on him for jobs and products and he took it seriously. It had kept him from going insane with waiting and loss over the centuries. He even enjoyed it at times because no matter what his Arthur had said all those years ago, Merlin wasn’t an idiot.

Running his businesses gave him purpose.

But Merlin accepted it for what it was, a distraction. A distraction then and a distraction now. A way of not dealing with Arthur’s death. And with Drake currently puttering about the estate, he needed it more than ever.

It was very late by the time Arthur finally came looking for him. Merlin made him sandwiches for lunch, but he was ignored, Arthur intent on his computer screen and whatever he saw there. There were mutterings and an exasperated glance, and while it made sense for Drake to dismiss him out of hand, Merlin didn’t need that kind of contemptuous indifference. It reminded him too much of the last years they’d been together when Arthur’s uncle had been more important than Merlin ever was and then Gwen taking his place at Arthur’s side. Merlin always the servant and not much else.

Merlin knew he was taking too much of it to heart. Drake was deep into his research and probably didn’t even realise what he’d done. After all, he didn’t know Merlin at all. To Arthur, he was probably just an annoyance, and while it made sense, it still hurt.

Merlin did what he always did, had a dialogue of shouting and regret with himself inside his head, then made a delicious meal for one, and drank a lot of wine.

At least his palate had improved, although he remained a lightweight. One glass of port and he let down his guard. Drifting away at times as he sat in the lounge, nursing a third glass… or was it a fourth, wondering what the hell he was doing, and trying not to think about the man invading his life.

Staring at the blaze burning merrily in the fireplace, Merlin took another long sip of port. There were miniature dragons lurking in the logs, chasing each other in flames of hide and seek, and a bright mermaid combing her hair as she floated above the sparks. A knight made of smoke rode past her, tilting at sizzling wood. A joyous party among the fiery blaze.

He almost didn’t hear Drake walk into the lounge. Sauntering toward him, Arthur said, “Merlin, I’d love to show you what I’ve found today if you are interested.”

Merlin realised just what he’d been doing, and whispered a quick word or two. Figures melted back into an ordinary fire, no trace of magic in the flames.

Drake must have seen something because he turned sharply toward the fire, gazing into its depths, before shrugging his concern off, and turning back to Merlin.

“Merlin, am I… ah, I see you are….” Arthur stopped, muttering a bit under his breath.

Merlin didn’t hear what he’d said, but he could imagine it. It didn’t make him any happier.

“I’m what?” Merlin said. “Pissed?” He put the wine glass down, a sharp clink, then struggling a bit to stand because Drake was right, but Merlin refused to admit any such weakness as he said, “Don’t know me at all. What right… do you have to say… anything about my… my drinking?”

Arthur frowned, staring at him for a moment as if realising Merlin was in no mood to talk, then, his voice flat and final, said, “My apologies. I won’t bother you again.”

Turning to go, sending Merlin one last disappointed glance, Arthur started for the door.

“Wait!” Merlin wasn’t quite shouting, but it sounded loud and wobbly to his ears. Lowering his voice, he said, “Wait, Dr Drake, Arthur, I’m…” As Arthur stopped, Merlin half-stumbled over to him. He was rubbing at his forehead, trying to clear his head. “M’sorry. It’s… been a… a day and… you… don’t deserve that.”

“We all have those days. It is how we handle them that shows our true character.” Arthur said.

Anger spreading across his chest, Merlin wanted to shout back at the arse that it wasn’t the same, that he’d waited so long and having Arthur there was tearing him apart. But he didn’t.

Merlin learned long ago to keep his temper in check. Magic unleashed always had a cost, sometimes too high, and even now it was hovering just out of reach, waiting for Merlin to release it. Too much at times. So instead, he took a long, deep breath and let it out again.

“I… emmm… deserve that.” Merlin said, leaning back against the sofa, using it to keep from falling. “You don’t… drink?”

“I wouldn’t say that, but my uni days are over.” Arthur looked down at Merlin slumping more and more. “Perhaps we can talk about it tomorrow. You look knackered.”

Looking back toward the fire, Merlin rubbed his forehead again. “Have to… take care of….”

Arthur reached out, his hand wrapping around Merlin’s arm. “How about we get you to bed and I’ll take care of that for you?”

Wanting to lean into the touch, the feel of Arthur’s strong hands against him bringing back raw longing, instead Merlin just nodded, and let Arthur lead him out of the lounge and up the stairs. “M’tired.”

The port must have been stronger than he realised. His mind was phasing in and out as they hobbled to Merlin’s room, and he was unable to keep awake. But there were beloved hands taking off his things, and pulling the bedcovering over him, and he sank into the soft mattress.

As he descended into oblivion, he whispered into the pillow. “Waited so long… for you, Arthur. A thousand… a thousand years… missing you. Why didn’t you come back to me?” 

There was no reply.


	5. Chapter 5

His hangover was savage. Apparently, he needed to keep away from wine which was ridiculous. He’d just let things get away from him and a glass of port wasn’t all that bad, although it might have been a bit more than a glass. He didn’t really remember much. At least it wasn’t vodka.

There was a glass of water by the bed and a bottle of paracetamol. Merlin didn’t remember putting them there, but then again, his trainers were off, his trousers, too, although he still had on his shirt. Someone must have put him to bed.

Arthur.

He’d had to face the prat again after he’d seen Merlin rat-arsed. Great.

Well, it couldn’t be helped. As he climbed carefully out of bed, he drank a bit of the water, then hobbled into the ensuite for his homemade remedy.

Gaius had taught him many things over the years. The very horrid tonic worked mostly, although it did look like he’d need more supplies if he was going to be drinking to excess for as long as Arthur was there.

A shower later, he was still feeling the aftereffects.

By the time Merlin shuffled into the kitchen, head still aching a bit, Arthur was already done and cleaning up. He looked well rested, a sun god with all that golden skin and direct blue eyes that saw everything. It was annoying when Merlin was still feeling so wretched, but it was his own damn fault, so he just pulled out some juice of the fridge and sat down.

Still rubbing at his sore head, Merlin was surprised to suddenly have toast and bacon in front of him. Buttered toast with a bit of jam on the side.

Standing behind him, Merlin’s chair wobbling a little as Arthur leaned on it, Arthur said, “Do you want eggs, too?”

Shaking his head, wincing as he did, Merlin took a bite of the toast, chewing a little before he said, “No, thanks. I’m… still a bit under the weather at the moment.”

“Is that what we are calling it now?” There was amusement there and some understanding there in Arthur’s voice. “Are you all right?”

“No.” There was a world of hurt in it, but Arthur couldn’t know that. He hadn’t been all right for over a millennium. But all he could do was take another bite of the toast and a little of the bacon, too, and try to not think about it.

As Arthur sat down and drank the last of his tea, Merlin didn’t want to ask, but he had to know. “Did I say anything last night that I oughtn’t have?”

There was a long pause, long enough that Merlin looked up to see Arthur frowning, before his face cleared, and he gave Merlin a little shrug. “No, nothing important. We all say things when we’re inebriated. Don’t worry about it.”

What the hell had he said? Merlin couldn’t remember anything more than playing warlock with the fire sprites and then stumbling to bed, Arthur’s strong hand tight on his arm.

As Merlin gave a little wince, Arthur spoke up again. “When you are done, did you want to see the initial results of the LiDAR scans, or shall I leave you to wallow in misery?”

“They say misery loves company, but I’ve never found that to be true.” As Merlin finished up the bacon, and got up, taking the plate to the sink, he said, “My head might be three times its size, but it’s not like I haven’t… pushed through it before. I’ll join you shortly.” 

Arthur took the dismissal well enough. “I’ll be in the workshop.”

After Arthur left, Merlin stood there, slowly cleaning up, his hands circling around the wet plate as he tried not to think about last night. From where he stood, he could see a portion of the castle, most of it hidden by trees, but the turret was jutting out, broken but still golden in the morning light.

What the hell had he said?

It went round and round in his head for a while, embarrassment and confusion warring with anger at himself for being such a fool. Finally, he gave up. It didn’t matter anyway. Drake would be gone and whatever Merlin had said was of no importance anyway.

Girded with a determination of decided indifference, he went in search of Arthur.

Arthur was busy on his computer, and as Merlin watched, he looked toward the printout of the photographic layout of Merlin’s estate, following some lines with his fingertips. Then as he turned back, Merlin stepped into the room.

“If you are busy, I can come some other time.”

Arthur shook his head. “No, come in. You can clear a few things up before I start on the next phase.”

The workshop was still relatively bare. The equipment Arthur had been using yesterday was neatly placed at one end, the drone lying on its side, a camera next to it.

“I have some pretty good images of the major ruins, although there are some weak spots in the data that will need to be redone.” Arthur pointed to a spot on the screen which was still blanked out. “I also didn’t have time to run a scan of the area near your house. While it’s relatively flat, there may be some indication of a lower town or village there. It’s too bad the satellite image is so blurry. When we had that drought a few years back, there were some amazing finds detected with the change in foliage alone.”

Standing next to Arthur, but not too close, Merlin said, “Yes, I saw the articles.”

Arthur frowned up at him. “First knowing what a magnetometer was and now this. Have you been on digs before?”

“I’ve dabbled a bit.” And then Merlin gave him a fool’s grin, one he’d used often in the old days.

Arthur gave him a look of scepticism, almost as though he could see through Merlin’s games. “Dabbled… right. As an amateur or professionally?”

Merlin wasn’t going to lie, but telling the truth wasn’t an option, either. So as usual, he skirted the obvious. “My uncle and I worked on several digs. I don’t have a degree in it, but I’ve seen my share of things.”

Nodding, Arthur said, “Excellent. You will know when to help and when to stay out of the way, then. This will make things a bit easier.” He seemed to relax at that, then turning back to the computer screen, he pointed again at the blank spot and the ruins next to it. “Since the sky will be clear today and they don’t predict rain for a couple of days, I thought we might walk the grounds so I can get a better idea of the scope. I did see the turret from the kitchen window so maybe we should head out in that direction. Unless you have an objection?”

The idea of walking Arthur through the sacred spaces in Camelot gave him pause. Merlin had often pictured his Arthur looking at what he’d kept for him over the centuries and thanking him for it. In a way, Drake was an invader, not of destroying stone and mortar but of Merlin’s dreams, a millennium’s worth of hope and anguish.

But he knew as soon as he’d agreed to let Drake in, the man would be walking the same paths as his Arthur had, climbing the same stairs, existing in the same spaces. He’d just have to accept it for now and grieve later.

“No, no objection. But… you need to listen to me when I tell you not to go somewhere. The citadel really is falling apart. I’ve tried to keep it up as much as I can, but it’s an impossible task.”

“Fair enough.” Arthur frowned a second, then said, “If we find what I think we’ll find, you might get enough funds to rebuild it.”

Merlin shook his head. “Don’t.”

Arthur’s mouth flattened in annoyance, then his face smoothed out again. “Very well. I think you are making a mistake, but it’s your property and your choice.” He turned back to the drone. “I’m going to set up the drone to fly over the other areas for a second try at those blank spots on the scan. It will take a few minutes, then I should be ready to go.”

Nodding, Merlin said, “I’ll wait outside.”

It was a tricky climb. There were rock falls and lots of brush to push through. Merlin knew another way, a much easier way, into the castle, but he wasn’t about to let Arthur know all his secrets. Besides, a bit of work never hurt anyone.

In the distance, there was the sound of the drone making its way around the estate, and bird song closer, the cry of a hawk that had been nesting in one of the towers, and smaller birds, too, joyous and busy.

Arthur was soldiering on, pushing through thorny scrub, breathing heavily at times and muttering. Merlin tried hard not to grin. If he didn’t know better, it would have been his Arthur following him, just like in the old days.

And it felt good to get a little of his own pride back. The ‘crackpot’ comment still stung, and even though Arthur didn’t know that Merlin had heard him, it was obviously how Arthur felt about magic and the people who believed in it. If there were a few extra thorns and ferny twigs in Arthur’s hair, well, who was to know?

Merlin was still smiling when, at last, they reached the entrance. “The drawbridge is wobbly. I was only able to repair the two planks on the left side so be careful.” Then without looking back, Merlin walked carefully across the bridge.

Below them, there was grass and some larger remains of stonework. It would be a long, long fall if Arthur slipped. As Merlin reached the other side and leaned against one of the more stable walls, he watched Arthur walk across, nimble and confident.

“Show-off,” Merlin muttered under his breath. Then louder, he said, “The portcullis is gone, long ago rotted away, but the archway is in pretty good shape. The walls on the right are stable for now, as are some of the rooms on the left.”

He started to point out other things. Behind him, Arthur stopped, gazing at the ruins, looking as awed as if he’d just been given his greatest desire.

“It’s beautiful,” Arthur said.

In Merlin’s mind, it was a fragile shell of what it once was, but he could see the bones of past greatness in the soaring walls and stone carvings. A downspout of a crocodile still remained, and lintels of men and beasts cut into the stone. But so much else had disappeared. It took Merlin’s breath away to think of it.

“You should have seen it before.” Merlin let that slip before he could stop himself.

Arthur frowned, blinking at him, looking confused. “Before?”

Realizing his mistake, Merlin said, “My uncle tells me much has fallen down since he was a child. He said it was amazing, but it becomes harder every year to keep it going.”

Nodding, Arthur said, “I can believe it. It’s much bigger than I realised. And grander, too.” He was slowly turning around, taking it all in. “This would be a life’s work.”

“You have no idea.” Merlin felt the weight of the centuries in that.

Arthur glanced back at him, looking puzzled. Then he shook off whatever he’d been thinking and said, “Why don’t we do this systematically? I brought a camera to take some initial shots to gauge just what we are up against, then we can head back and see if the drone has completed its scans.” He pulled out the camera that Merlin had seen earlier. “So perhaps left to right around the perimeter, then into some of the rooms that you think are stable.”

Merlin nodded. It didn’t matter. It was getting harder and harder to deal with Drake, especially in this setting. He could almost hear the clatter of horse hooves on the cobblestones, and swords clashing in the distance. He shook it off, determined to get through it with some semblance of dignity.

“Of course.” Pointing toward the breezeway flanking the banquet hall, he said, “This way.”

Arthur was taking photos of the ruins here and there as Merlin talked about the castle and its inner workings. Merlin didn’t take him inside the Great Hall upstairs. The roof collapsed centuries ago, and the floor was buckling, but the banquet hall below was still in good shape for its age. 

So many memories were crowding Merlin, though, especially with Arthur’s voice in his ear, and the way the sunlight hit Arthur’s hair, brought out the blue of his eyes, that he could almost feel his Arthur beside him.

All the while, Drake was growing more and more excited, taking in everything, pointing out problems and possible solutions to the crumbling walls, that Merlin caught a bit of that excitement, too. He loved the castle, loved the ruins even though they were falling apart, and to share that love was exhilarating. It was as if his Arthur was walking beside him, a living breathing embodiment of his other half come to life.

Merlin knew it was his own loneliness that was confusing him. His mind was putting Drake in Arthur’s place. It wasn’t real, but he couldn’t help smiling when Drake vaulted over the half-wall along the walkway, just as his Arthur had done so many years ago.

As Drake turned back, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement, Merlin said, “I’ll just walk around to you, shall I?”

“Come on, Merlin. You’re not that old.” When Merlin sent Arthur a look and then carefully climbed over the wall, Arthur smirked at him. “This castle is… I could spend the rest of my life here and only scratch the surface.”

“Would you? Stay here?” Merlin’s magic was saying yes, yes, yes, but he shook it off. It wasn’t real, Drake wasn’t the man he’d waited for, and Merlin refused to give in to it. Instead he raised one eyebrow, a habit he’d picked up from Gaius, and said, “If you could?”

Arthur’s smile was blinding. “If I had the funds, oh yes. This place is something special. Can’t you feel it?”

Of course, he could. The castle was built with magic, had magic embedded into the very stones, had seen the ebb and flow of that power sinking into the earth beneath their feet. And in some of the rooms below them, magical artifacts that Merlin had collected over the years, were shielded and protected and waiting for Arthur’s return to be free again. The citadel was vibrating with magic.

But Drake didn’t know that. Instead, Merlin said, “I feel it every day.” And he let Arthur make of it what he would.

For a moment, Drake’s smile faltered, then nodding toward the stairway that led to Arthur’s old chambers, he said, “What’s up there?”

Merlin said, “Just rooms, quarters for the upper classes. Nothing of any interest.”

It was a lie.

He didn’t want Drake to intrude into the ruin of Arthur’s rooms. Some places to Merlin were sacred. Instead, he pointed toward the chapel and archway, and the tower that lead to Uther’s rooms. Let the man see those profane spaces of a tyrant. “I thought you wanted to do a perimeter walk first.”

Drake didn’t seem to hear him. He kept staring up toward the window where Arthur had once lived, frowning a bit, his body turned toward it as a sunflower might follow the sun. Drake took a step in that direction, then another.

“Arthur?” When Drake didn’t say anything, just kept walking, Merlin reached out and shook him. “Dr Drake, where are you going? Dr Drake?”

Arthur just blinked at him, then as Merlin held on, he seemed to realise what he was doing, and stopped. “I’m… for a moment, I thought I saw someone at the window.” As Merlin let go, Arthur said, “Is it possible that there are other people here? Intruders or poachers?”

“The only way in is through the gate.” That wasn’t exactly true. There were siege tunnels and a postern gate and the cave, of course, but Merlin had those warded with magic so that if someone tried to get in, he’d know. “I doubt we would have missed seeing anyone coming in.”

“Are you sure? It’s a big place. They could be camping overnight in those rooms and waiting for us to leave.” Arthur had a point. But Merlin didn’t want to climb those stairs, not with Drake trailing him, to check Arthur’s quarters. It was bad enough standing there in the courtyard with a living ghost reminding him of every moment of the past.

“I’m sure. I have cameras and motion sensors around to make sure no one comes in.” That was another lie, but magic was as good as a camera, better really, and Merlin would have known in an instant if there had been anyone there.

Arthur seemed to accept that. “Very well. Lead on, MacDuff.”

“If I remember correctly, that didn’t end well.” Merlin said, starting to move toward Uther’s tower, and Arthur followed. “Also, a misquote.”

“Your Oxford days are showing.” Arthur gave him a quick grin. “This tower looks less ruinous than the others. Any reason?”

It was ironic that it was the quarters of Uther Pendragon, Merlin’s bane and the cause of endless misery, were still standing when so much else had fallen into disrepair. Even the some of the gargoyles above were in decent shape. “It must have been better built. My uncle did some repairs to the roof and they seemed to be holding up well. We’ve had some problem with hawks nesting in awkward places, but it’s been less of a problem than some of the other towers.”

As if on cue, two hawks took off, soaring high above, floating in the morning breeze. In the distance, a flock of pigeons rose up, too, and there was a sound of wings, and closer, a drone humming. 

Drake watched them for a while, then as they walked closer to Uther’s tower, Merlin said, “Birds can be quite destructive. But I hate to chase the hawks away. They keep the mice population down and some of the rats, too.”

Standing by the stairway leading up to Uther’s apartments, Merlin pointed up toward the roof. “I’m actually more worried about the gargoyles. Last winter, we had so much freezing and thawing that some of the stonework loosened quite a bit. Although I must admit that the water freezing in the gargoyles’ mouths was funny. It looked like they were vomiting ice.” And he made a face, tongue out, and a little sound like he was choking.

Arthur just rolled his eyes, but his grin was hard to miss. “I’m sure it was all delightful. Did anyone ever tell you have the mind of a child?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, and I told the same person that I was more intelligent than him.”

Arthur gave a little huff. “And were you?”

“Oh, yes, much more so.” Then Merlin grinned, too. It was a relief to talk like this, to give and take, when all around him the memories weighed him like stones given to a drowning man. He felt lighter than he had in years.

“Do you think….” Arthur stopped, looking up.

Above them, the drone was now flying high, going back and forth in an obvious grid pattern. Merlin had never seen one in action, and for a little while, it was almost mesmerizing to watch, its hum echoing in the courtyard, making it seem much louder and closer than it really was.

But the hawks were not happy. As the drone came close to Uther’s tower, both birds dove toward it, talons raised, their screeches harsh against the stones, their cries even louder than the drone’s whine.

Arthur looked horrified, his hands outstretched as if to prevent the hawks from attacking his drone. “Shit, there must be something… shit.”

But it was too high up. Over and over, the hawks dove at the drone, avoiding the propellers as they harried the machine, but catching the struts, tearing at the fragile covers, and forcing it off-course.

Merlin couldn’t do anything. Arthur was too close, and even if he did, Arthur would know something was up. Still, he had to try.

His fingers flicked out, and both hawks were suddenly tumbling away from the drone, screeching all the while. A moment later, they were back, striking at it from above, more intent than ever, as if they blamed the drone for the attack.

The machine swerved again as one of the birds yanked something out of the top and let it go. There were plastic shards and bits of metal falling, scattering around them. And the machine was tumbling down, hitting the side of the tower and one of the gargoyles with a loud crack as it fell. 

Merlin started to pull Arthur out of the way, trying to shield them both while softening the drone’s fall. There was expensive equipment on it, and Merlin knew that Arthur would be furious if it broke entirely. But one of the hawks wasn’t finished.

The bird dove again, screaming at the drone, claws ripping again at another of the struts, and as he let go, the remnants went flying toward Arthur.

Both hawks screeching and above it all, there was another loud crack, and horror of horrors, pieces of the gargoyle were falling, too, straight at them both.

Merlin only had a spilt second, so he grabbed Arthur, twisting away from the worst of it. But he was off-balance, they both were, and as Arthur fell, his head struck the cobblestones. Horrified, Merlin covered Arthur’s body with his own, then sent up a flash of magic to shove the debris away and shield them both. 

As Merlin lay there, all around them, shards of broken plastic and twisted metal and rotted stone were hitting the cobblestones with sharp thunks and the softer sound of delicate equipment shattering. 

And then it was quiet, except for the satisfied sound of hawks settling back into their nest.

As Merlin looked down, Arthur’s eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving, and Merlin couldn’t see straight for the horror of it. He knew he was panicking, but he couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but look at Arthur with his mouth slack and his eyes closed, and Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur was breathing.

It couldn’t be. It couldn’t. He couldn’t lose Arthur again; he couldn’t bear it. It was just like before and Arthur not breathing and if it was, gods if it was….

Merlin shifted to one side, then frantically feeling for a pulse, putting his head against Arthur’s chest to hear if his heart was still beating and his lungs working. His hands were everywhere, trying to feel if Arthur had broken anything, if he’d fallen onto sharp objects, if he’d smashed his skull into pieces.

“It can’t be, it can’t be. Arthur, say something. Gods, Arthur, don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Not again, please, not again.”

Under him, as Merlin touched and felt for breaks, and babbled, Arthur gave a little groan, opened his eyes, and tried to sit up.

But Merlin wasn’t having any of it. It was too much of the past, too much like what he’d been through before. He pushed Arthur back down, gently cradling his head as he did so. His hand came away, slick with blood.

“Don’t get up, yet. I must see… I must… gods, Arthur, please don’t be hurt, please don’t die. I couldn’t bear it.” His vision swam, blurry with tears, but he blinked them away. “Are you hurt? Where does it hurt? Have you broken anything? Oh, gods, Arthur say something.”

Arthur raised a hand to his head. “Are you always this loud?”

“Only when clotpoles scare me half to death.” Merlin gave a little laugh. He was still close to frantic, still reeling from the shock of seeing Arthur laying there, bleeding, dying.

Except Arthur wasn’t dying. He’d a bump on his head, there’d be a trip to the A&E, and this stranger would think him ridiculous.

Arthur frowned up at him, waving his hand in front of Merlin’s face, trying to get his attention. “Do you think I can get up now? Or are you going to panic some more?”

That stopped Merlin. He sat back, mouth flat, eyes glaring. His heart was still pounding with worry and under it all, he was remembering his Arthur’s death all over again. He felt sick with it and he knew later he would be horrified, but right now, he had to think about what to do next, for Drake’s sake.

“You arse, I was not panicking.” He absolutely was panicking, was still panicking a little bit, but he wasn’t about to let the dollophead know that. Wiping off the remnants of Arthur’s blood on his shirt, Merlin said, “I was trying to see if you were hurt.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, I have a rubbish headache, and I’ve bruises on my backside, but I don’t think I’ve broken anything.” Arthur sat up slowly, then winced as he knocked his right hand against stone. “I suppose they will want to take X-rays at the very least.”

“Of your backside?” Merlin said. 

“No, idiot, of my head. And maybe my wrist. It seems to be hurting quite a bit.” Arthur was cradling his right hand, looking down at it as if it were failing him somehow. “I may have fallen on it when you pushed me down.”

“I was trying to save your life, you prat.”

Merlin reached for Arthur’s wrist, but Drake pulled back, sending Merlin a glare. Merlin sent him one back.

“Ungrateful, stubborn, supercilious, condescending cabbage-head, I don’t know why I put up with you.” But as Merlin was talking, he was also checking the back of Drake’s head, checking to see how badly he’d been hurt. Finally, he sat back. “At least it looks like your headwound has stopped bleeding.”

Arthur sighed, long and annoying, as if he were putting up with Merlin’s fussing for Merlin’s sake and not his own. “Merlin, I’ll be fine. And I do appreciate it.”

“Well, all right, then. I suppose you want to visit the A&E now.”

Arthur started to nod, but then he winced, drawing a sharp breath. After a moment, he let it out slowly. “Well, we could wait for the survey to be over, but considering the drone is ruined, perhaps now would be a good time.” Arthur didn’t get up, but he looked around. “Where is my camera?”

Luckily, the camera has survived it all, unscathed. Merlin gave it back to Arthur, but Arthur shook his head and gave it back to Merlin. “Hold it for a while, would you? I may be a bit woozy at present.”

As Merlin slung the camera across his shoulder, he said, “If you are woozy, perhaps you should sit for a while longer.”

Arthur just sent him a look of disdain. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be fine. I’ll just need to have my hands free when we crawl back through that rockfall you call a trail back to the house.”

“Okay, okay.” Merlin was still worried. Arthur was looking pale and wincing as he held his wrist. Even taking the easier path, it could be a problem. However, with Arthur glaring up at him, he said, “Can you stand? Do you need help?” When Arthur scowled at him, Merlin stood up, then hands on hips, glared down at him. “Or should I just let you wobble your way out by yourself?”

As he struggled to stand up, Arthur said, “A hand would be very helpful, Merlin. A shoulder to lean on might be better though as I’m… whoa, feeling a bit dizzy.”

Merlin rushed forward, reaching for Arthur’s arm, letting him use Merlin as leverage to stand.

Arthur was swaying a bit, his eyes closed, frowning. Then he took a deep breath, straightened, and opening his eyes, started walking, if a bit slowly and not a little wobbly, toward the exit.

Merlin was not dancing around him but close to it, watching for the slightest problem, wringing his hands as he did so. So much for using Merlin’s shoulder for support, the prat was just too damn obstinate for his own good.

When they got to the bridge, it looked impossible. Arthur was still swaying a bit and Merlin knew that one false step and Arthur could be hurt a lot worse than an aching head if he fell. The planks were stable enough, but Merlin couldn’t help worrying. 

“Careful of the bridge. Can you hold onto my hand? I can walk you across or maybe just hold onto you from the back. You know, to steady you. Or I could carry you. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I’m not an invalid. Just a little dizzy. I’ve been through worse.” Drake said.

He sent Merlin a look that told of stocks and stable-mucking if he dared disobey. That it wasn’t his Arthur sending him that look that gave Merlin pause.

“So have I. Much worse than you apparently.” Merlin stepped closer, offered his hand anyway. He wasn’t going to let a little pig-headedness stop him from keeping Arthur safe. “You really are a stubborn arse, you know. Just let me help you.”

When Arthur ignored Merlin’s hand and started forward, Merlin caught hold of his shirt. “Look, I know you think you are immortal, but you are not. Besides, if you die by falling off my bridge, the paperwork alone will drive me mad. Please don’t do this.”

“Fine. Whatever you say, Merlin.” Arthur still had a look of mulish disdain, but he balked when Merlin went to lift him up, fireman’s carry style. “I’m not getting carried across like some fainting maiden. I’ll take my chances with walking.”

“I swear I’ll beat you bloody if you don’t behave.”

Arthur stood there, mouth gaping.

But Merlin refused to back down. “Fine, I know it’s a stain on your manhood or something. Gods above, you are ridiculous, but okay, walk across first and I’ll walk behind you… but I will hold onto your belt, just in case. Is that acceptable to your royal pratliness?”

If looks could kill, Merlin would be dead a dozen times over. But Arthur gave in, sighing long and loud about it, forceful enough that it could be heard in the next county. 

They took it slow at that. Arthur was smart enough to know that one slip might be the end of him, no matter how much he might protest.

Once over the bridge, Merlin let go, then turned toward his house. Arthur didn’t say anything. He just followed him for a few moments, grumbling the entire time.

Then Arthur stopped, frowning, and pointed toward the overgrown trail they’d used before. “Merlin, isn’t your house that way? Or are we walking to the A&E?”

Merlin flushed, then shook his head, indicating the clear path ahead of them. “Yes, but this way is shorter. Then I’ll drive you to the A&E. Unless you want to walk? It’s not far by car, but it could take a good half hour if we walked.”

Merlin turned back down the pathway, listening to make sure Drake was following him. It didn’t take long for Arthur to figure it all out.

“Let me get this straight. You took us the long way in. Over boulders and through thorn bushes. Instead of a nice, clear, easy path.”

Arthur’s voice was rising sharp, and Merlin grimaced at that. It seemed like good fun at the time. Now, he wasn’t so sure.

But Merlin didn’t stop. He said, “Yes, I wouldn’t want you to feel left out.”

“Left out?” There was outrage there, and more grumbling, and slowing footsteps behind him.

Merlin slowed down too, then turned back, grabbing at Arthur’s arm, holding on as he pulled him along the pathway. As he did, he gave Arthur a quick idiot’s grin. “Aren’t all you archaeologists adventurer types? With guns and whips and golden statues?”

Arthur stopped, snapped out, “I’m not bloody Indiana Jones, you buffoon.” He was scowling, too, which must have hurt because the next moment, he gave a little grunt.

“It’s just a little further.” Arthur didn’t look that well, pale, his mouth pained. Merlin was growing concerned. But he’d told the truth. It wasn’t far. Merlin stepped closer, ducked underneath and put Arthur’s arm across Merlin’s shoulder, then curled his hand around Arthur’s waist, holding him up.

Arthur muttered, “Not an invalid.”

But he didn’t pull away. He just leaned on Merlin as they stumbled down the path.

Trying to lighten the moment, Merlin said, “All you need is a hat. And maybe a whip. Do you have a whip?”

“God help me, you’re a complete idiot.” Arthur slowed down again as they reached the house. “Where’s the car?”

“Just around the corner.” As it came into view, Merlin hurried over to the passenger side and opened the door. “Let me help you in, all right?”

“I’m not a girl’s petticoat, Merlin.” But Arthur let Merlin fuss with him anyway, clicking in the seatbelt, making sure Arthur was all tucked in before closing the door.

As he slid into the car, Merlin said, “No, you are a cabbage-head who just had an accident. Sit back and we’ll be at the doctor’s in no time.”


	6. Chapter 6

At least, the wrist wasn’t broken. A sprain, but Arthur grumbled about it anyway. The doctor gave him a wrist brace and told him to ice it three times a day and not to put too much pressure on it. Plus pain medication and instructions to see the doctor again in a few days.

The concussion was more of a problem. It wasn’t life-threatening, but Arthur grew more confused as he sat in the A&E and was nauseous and dizzy. He kept insulting Merlin, too, and while that was a relief in some ways — because Merlin missed it so very much, it wasn’t Drake’s normal behaviour.

Arthur also didn’t like that he had to stay away from the computer for a while, and absolutely no fieldwork for a few days. The doctor had wanted him to stay overnight, but Arthur, stubborn clotpole that he was, refused.

Merlin was put in charge of Arthur’s recovery. Even though there was complaining and demands and lots and lots of peevishness, Merlin rather enjoyed it. He especially liked… or hated — he wasn’t sure —the fact that he had to help Arthur wash his hair and redress his head wound and there was necessary touching and laughter, too, especially when Arthur kept grumbling about how he wasn’t helpless. Merlin just gave him a look and Arthur would settle down.

He knew it wouldn’t last but it was wonderful to have someone to take care of again, especially someone who was so much like his Arthur. In fact, sometimes he had to tell himself that it was Drake and not Arthur ordering him about.

In fact, it reminded him just how much he’d isolated himself over the years. It was for his heart’s protection as much as anything. Everyone he’d loved died one way or another, and it became harder and harder to connect with anyone, knowing that they’d be dust soon enough.

But he’d never wanted to be apart from other people. In the friendships he forged in Camelot, he’d always had someone to rely on, Gwaine, Gaius, Lancelot, even Gwen. Now, except for his business dealings, he had no one.

Finally, there was another Arthur in his life and he knew that it would only end in heartache if he let him in, but he wanted to connect so badly. Needed it like air and water and although it wasn’t his Arthur, the only one he’d ever truly love, he thought that Drake and he could at least be friends, for as long as he remained in Camelot.

And while they’d gotten off to a bad start, Drake was intelligent and funny, and his insults were just what Merlin needed.

He even shouted like his Arthur. “Merlin!”

“You bellowed, oh great one?”

Arthur was sitting by the window, curtains drawn so he wouldn’t strain his eyes, the notebook he’d been writing in open in his lap. He got up and started pacing.

“I know you didn’t sign up for this. But I’m going stir crazy.” To Merlin, he looked like a caged lion, raging to get out but trapped by walls and bars and doctor’s orders. “Since I assume you actually have things to do, would you mind if I invited my friend, Dr DuLac, here for a visit? His insight would be invaluable, and I could stop bothering you about every little thing.”

Merlin didn’t want anyone else there. It was bad enough that Drake saw how extensive the ruins were. If he or this Dr DuLac were to find evidence that it has once been Camelot, there would be hell to pay. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to keep the mobs away or the press. He knew there would be poachers, too, willing to steal or dig up what he was trying to preserve. But Arthur deserved at least a friendly face and maybe Merlin could keep the damage minimal. Maybe.

But he didn’t want to talk about it just yet. Instead, he said, “You aren’t bothering me, Arthur. I won’t say I enjoy you yelling for me every other second, but it’s the least I could do considering that you were injured because of me.”

Arthur stopped his pacing, scowling a little at him. “Merlin, the hawks attacked the drone, not you.” A long put-upon sigh, and a shake of the head as Arthur said, “I have no idea why you think it’s your fault but it’s not, and I’ll hear no more about it.”

Merlin still felt badly about what had happened. After all, if he’d just shoved the hawks further away, he could have saved the drone, but he’d been too timid, too worried about Arthur seeing him use magic. It reminded him too much of the past.

But pushing aside the guilt, Merlin said, “I’ve gone back to collect the remains of your equipment. I wish I could say that the Lidar unit could be salvaged, but it’s in pieces and the drone, too. At least, the memory chips are intact. When the doctor says you can start working again, it’s possible that most of the second scan is complete, or nearly so.”

Arthur sat down again, almost flinging himself into the chair. He took up the exercise ball for his wrist and began squeezing it, hard, almost as if he wanted to smash it into dust.

Merlin walked over and tugged the ball out of his hand, sending Arthur an exasperated look. There was such a thing as overdoing it and it was too soon anyway. He could make things worse if he wasn’t careful.

Letting out a huff, as he settled back, all annoyance and frustration, Arthur said, “Getting another Lidar system is a little beyond the budget, right now. I don’t know where I’m going to get £10,000 to replace it.”

“So much?” Merlin hadn’t kept up with the technology and it surprised him.

Arthur shook his head, wincing a little. “Well, the prices have come down since I bought this unit. It used to be twice that price.”

“Can’t Pendragon Inc. help?” After all, it had been funding Drake’s activities up to now.

“My father does not approve of my work. I only got this last one because my sister, using guilt and the fact she has him wrapped around her little finger, talked him into it. I doubt I can repeat the process.” Rubbing his hand across his forehead, Arthur said, “We tend to end up shouting at each other, usually after cutting remarks about my choice of career and the lack of a wife.”

“I’m sorry, Arthur.” Merlin was, too. He’d seen how much Uther had hurt his Arthur with his careless contempt, and it would appear that Drake’s father was no different.

“Well, it’s nothing I’m not used to. And…. you never answered my question. Can Lance come to visit?”

The man was remarkably persistent at times. And Merlin was tired of telling him no. Giving in a little, Merlin said, “Would he stay for days or just overnight?”

Arthur’s face lightened, and he was sitting straighter, seeming to perk up at the prospect. “I doubt he has time now. He’s working on another dig, very hush-hush, but he could stay maybe one or two days. If you wouldn’t mind?”

Merlin gave in. He never could deny Arthur anything and this Arthur was looking so much like his king that it took his breath away.

“I need to go to London on Friday on business. I suppose it would be alright, if he agrees to the same terms as our agreement and… he doesn’t go alone into the ruins. My solicitor is already having a fit about your injuries.”

“Solicitors have fits?” Arthur was grinning, looking as if Merlin had given him the world.

Merlin laughed, then shrugged. “Mine does, although he calls them cautionary tales.”

The doctor was satisfied at how much better Arthur was after a couple of days. The sutures on his head wound would take a few more days before they could be removed, but the doctor did promise the hair would grow back in time. That had been Arthur’s first question. Conceited git.

More happily, the wrist brace came off, and Arthur could start again with data manipulation on his computer. But the doctor cautioned him that it might take longer to be climbing lots of stairs or digging in the dirt.

Arthur bristled at that but shrugged his compliance. He was grumbling and short with Merlin as he drove him back, as if it were Merlin’s fault that Arthur couldn’t rush headlong back into his work.

What Arthur did do was start walking around the area near Merlin’s house. There was enough to do there. Beyond a few low walls where the village once stood was a square garden, full of herbs for Merlin’s potions. No crevices or sinkholes to stumble into, but Arthur seemed happy to be charting the ruins, taking photos and copious notes. After all, a castle wasn’t complete without all the surrounding village remains and that data was just as important to an archaeologist as any castle.

Merlin would always watch him, though, just in case. Drake seemed to get into almost as much trouble as his Arthur had and Merlin didn’t want to take any chances. But Arthur took it in stride, sometimes waving back at him or shouting for him to join him in a new discovery.

But mostly, Arthur kept working on the results of the Lidar scans, massaging the data so that there was a smooth and informative picture when he was done. More often than not, when Merlin would bring him his tea, he’d grab Merlin and plonk him down, chairs close together, sometimes thighs touching, and start explaining what he was doing.

He seemed to enjoy it, too, although Merlin had to admit that Arthur must not have realised how close they were, sitting there together, almost breathing the same air.

It was difficult to take at times. Drake was so much like Arthur, more so every day, with that Arthur voice of his and his golden hair and the same broad shoulders. His smile, and the light in his eyes when he grew excited. The heat of his body. The insults, the looks they shared.

Merlin was in trouble. Deep trouble.

Having a harder and harder time separating his Arthur from this one, Merlin tried to distance himself. He kept reminding himself that Drake would eventually be gone, that Merlin would have to wipe whatever memories Arthur had of Camelot and of Merlin and go back to his lonely path until his Arthur arrived. There wasn’t any choice.

But Drake made it so damn challenging.

Luckily, he had an out.

He’d arranged to visit his business associate, Victor Armstrong, in London. It would be good to get away, clear his head, and think about what was going on with what he was feeling and thinking and what to do about it. The long train ride should give him plenty of time. He knew he needed to be strong. Hopefully things will become obvious once he was away from Arthur. Maybe.

Friday started out as a beautiful day, cloudless, not too hot, just perfect for a picnic or horse ride. One of those days when nothing would go wrong.

Merlin planned to drive to the station and leaving the car, but Arthur said that Dr DuLac was coming in on the same train that Merlin would be taking into London. He offered to drive Merlin, and when Merlin returned home later that evening, Arthur would pick him up at the station.

DuLac was staying overnight. Arthur was thrilled.

Merlin didn’t say much along the way. He was too aware of how Arthur’s hands were shifting gears, holding onto the steering wheel, his thighs bunching as he shifted, and he seemed almost jovial as he rounded the corner and parked the lorry a few steps from the small station.

Merlin, on the other hand, was on edge. The worry that DuLac might see something that would pique his interest, and the excitement that Arthur was exuding about the visit, just didn’t sit well with Merlin. But it couldn’t be helped. He’d agreed after all.

Standing on the platform waiting for the train to arrive, Merlin could see Arthur taking it all in. Typical Victoriana, full of ornate struts and brick, an epitome of what filmmakers would usually choose for those heart-wrenching goodbye scenes in period piece movies. Most of the time Merlin found it charming. But today it was all too reminiscent of tragedies with steam engines billowing smoke and the sound of wheels squealing as the train stopped. At least, the cars weren’t old-fashioned.

But as Arthur stood tall, waving at someone down the platform, Merlin turned to see Lancelot striding toward them both.

A shy smile and good looks sent their way, Merlin couldn’t catch his breath for a moment. It was Lancelot, his friend from so long ago, down to the way he walked and that grin of his. It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible.

“Lance, over here.” Arthur’s voice was full of delight. “I want you to meet Merlin Emrys.”

As Lance glanced in Merlin’s direction, he seemed taken aback, frowning at Merlin. Then Lancelot shook himself clear of whatever was bothering him, and walking toward them both, put out a hand to shake Merlin’s.

“I’ve heard nothing but good things, Mr Emrys. Pleased to finally meet you.” He seemed sincere, too, a firm handshake, then letting go and standing back next to Arthur.

“Arthur has been singing your praises as well, Dr DuLac. And please call me Merlin.” But before he could say anything else, the station master was signalling for departure. Merlin said, “I’ll talk with you when I get back. Don’t tire Arthur too much. The doctor was clear about it. And now I must go.”

Before Lancelot could say anything else, Merlin nodded and hurried into the carriage, just as the doors closed and the train started to pull away. He watched Lancelot’s eyes following him, that frown back on his face, and Arthur beside him, talking, smiling.

And then they were gone.

As Merlin sat down, staring off into the distance as the train picked up speed, his head was spinning. What the hell had just happened? Why was Lancelot here? Was it even Lance or just some incredible coincidence?

Could it be that Arthur really was his Arthur reborn?

He had no idea. But his magic was humming in anticipation. If nothing else, his return to his home would be interesting.

Victor was annoyed with him. Merlin had to admit that he wasn’t paying much attention to the myriad issues that were popping up. Normally, he would find it all fascinating, using his magic to try and find ways that were advantageous without being harmful to his employees or his customers, but Lancelot showing up confused the hell out of him. 

He couldn’t stop thinking about all the implications. Or that perhaps it was just a terrible coincidence.

After all, fate had dealt him a horrible blow, making him wait all those centuries, and now with a man who looked just like Arthur and now another looking like Lancelot, it felt like he was being punished all over again for his failures. Taunting him with hopes only to be cut to pieces when reality came crashing in.


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin didn’t bother calling Arthur when his train got in. It was only a half hour walk if that, and Merlin needed to stretch his legs a bit. Truth be told, he was reluctant to return home. Too many questions and each one making him feel unbalanced.

Walking through the gate, his footsteps were quiet against the lawn as he strode toward the side entrance. Above him, the windows were open. It was a beautiful night, warm and clear, crickets chirping in the background, and the soft breeze fluttering the leaves overhead. 

There was a laugh, joyful and relaxed, coming from the lounge, and for a moment, Merlin listened to it, letting it wash over him.

The murmur of voices after drew him closer. He really shouldn’t have listened; it was becoming far too common a practice for him with Arthur there. But then again, he’d listened around corners and through wall openings and behind tapestries in Camelot. Old habits were hard to break after all, or at least that’s what he told himself as he leaned against the wall and strained to hear what they were saying.

It must have been Lancelot speaking. Merlin didn’t recognise the voice or maybe he did and didn’t want to accept it. But he listened anyway. “When is Merlin getting back?”

Arthur came to the window and leaned out a little, looking into the distance. Not wanting to be seen, Merlin huddled closer to the wall, the rocks jutting into his back, punishment for being such a pillock as to listen in on private conversations. But he didn’t move, not just yet.

Turning away a moment, then leaning against the window ledge, Arthur said, “He should have returned already. Maybe he decided to stay in town. He’d mentioned the possibility this morning.”

Inside, Lance’s voice drifted into the night. “Bit of an odd duck. Very mysterious.” He paused, then said, “I feel like I know him somehow.”

“I felt the same way when I first met him. Like I’ve known him all my life, but it’s not possible. I’d have remembered Merlin. He’s quite unforgettable.” Arthur sounded annoyed, as if it were Merlin’s fault.

Lance gave a short bark of laughter, then joining Arthur at the window, he stared off, toward the castle. Merlin turned to look at it for a moment. The moonlight accentuated the darkened windows and the stark tumble of ruins, but it was still beautiful, still his Camelot. He wondered if Lance saw the same thing, or if Arthur did. 

His voice softer, more introspective, Lance said, “Do you think he’d be upset that you took me to see the ruins? They were extensive, even without the Lidar scans and I’d love to ask him about what he has here.”

Of course, Arthur had done that, taken Lance into the castle. Exactly what Merlin said he shouldn’t do, the clotpole. Breaking the rules as soon as Merlin’s back was turned.

“Be prepared for a no. He’s quite protective of the site.” Arthur sighed. “Not that I blame him.”

“I can see why you were so adamant about coming here.” Lance said, “I hope we have some time to go into that northeast tower. It felt so familiar somehow. Almost as if I’d been there before.”

Arthur turned toward Lance. His voice sounded as if he’d heard it all before and didn’t like it much, almost mocking in his tone. “I’m sure there is a perfectly good explanation for it. These castles often had the same blueprint, a kitchen here, a set of rooms there, towers and dungeons and a great hall. No need to go all mystical on me.”

From his vantage point, Merlin couldn’t see Arthur’s face, but he’d bet Arthur was rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Lance gave another little huff. “My instincts have served me well, on more than one occasion, and you, too, if you would just admit it.”

“Don’t get me started.” Arthur folded his arms across his chest, then turned away from the window, crowding Lance a little. “Your instincts are just a set of constructs from data that your brain is processing without you being aware of it. And I’m reminding you right up front about what I said before. Merlin has some interesting prejudices about magic. Don’t mention it unless you want an earful about how magic is real.”

Lance leaned back against the window frame, not moving an inch. His voice was amused and not a little provocative, almost goading Arthur. “And it isn’t?”

“Merlin is an intelligent, perceptive man with too large ears and a killer smile, but he’s got a bug up his arse about magic. We’ve agreed to disagree on the subject.”

Lance didn’t seem to want to back down. “Oh, a killer smile and arses. Sounds like you are more than a little interested.”

Arthur gave an annoyed groan, then brushing one hand across his face, he said, “No, Lance, no. I’m here to do a job, not to get entangled in a torrid affair that can only end badly. Much as I might want to.”

“Gwaine really did a number on you.” Lance reached out, gave Arthur’s arm a little shake, then let it go.

“Yeah, he did. And I’m not ready to… look, you know me. When I fall in love, for better or worse, I’m in it all the way. And he was upfront about our relationship, nothing long term, just sex and having a good time. It was my fault that it ended badly. I wanted much more than he was willing to give.” Arthur turned away, staring out toward the castle again. “I can’t let my feelings for Merlin…” He turned back to Lance, his voice hardening. “whatever they might be, potential or otherwise, interfere with this dig. It’s too important.”

“And do you have feelings for him?” Lance murmured.

Arthur pushed off, then stalked away from the window, Lance following him. “Just let it go, you arse.”

“Alright, alright.” The voices were getting faint, likely they had moved deeper into the room and away from the window. “I didn’t want…tell… break out… the ….pagne… celebrate… yes.”

Merlin stood there a moment more, stunned by what he had heard. Arthur had feelings for him? He’d hid it well. Arthur treated him as an annoyance at best and an obstacle to his ambition at worst. The guilt didn’t help, either, knowing that he’d have to push Arthur away and thwart whatever conclusions he made about Camelot, to protect the castle for his own Arthur.

So why did it feel so much like betrayal?

When Merlin finally walked in, Lance and Arthur had already polished off half a bottle of champagne. Arthur smiled at him, waving him over. “Merlin, there you are. We’re celebratin’ a bit. Lance’s finally got engaged.” And he shoved a glass into Merlin’s hand.

Merlin didn’t have the heart to refuse. “Cheers, Dr DuLac.” He took a tiny sip, then put off having any more. His tolerance for alcohol hadn’t improved in all the centuries since and his memory of Arthur taking care of him last week after he’d got thoroughly rat-arsed was still fresh. “When’s the lucky day?”

“It’s Lance, Mr Emrys… Merlin.” When Merlin nodded, Lance said, “We’ve decided to wait until the season is over. So maybe January. Arthur has agreed to be my best man, so I had to make sure that he’s available. Gwen’s looking at venues now… Arthur, don’t look at me like that. I’ll Skype her later about it. As if I could get out of it even if I wanted to, you know how she is. Sweet and wonderful and tough as nails when she thinks she’s in the right. She and I are already busy with work so it will be a small wedding.” Apparently, Lance was talkative when not-quite-drunk.

Arthur smiled, nodding, but Merlin could sense the underlying unhappiness. But when he saw Merlin watching him, he lifted his glass and drank deeply, finishing off the rest. Then he poured more into his own glass and topped off Merlin’s, too. “Drink up, Merlin. Wouldn’t want Lance to think you were a numpty.”

“When I was younger, many, many years ago,” Merlin said.

Arthur lifted one eyebrow, mocking him.

Merlin glared back. “ _Many_ years ago. My mentor told me that I tended to get drunk after one whiff of a barmaid’s apron. I found that to be true even now.”

“There’s no one here but us, Merlin.” Arthur took another mouthful, then waited, watching Merlin.

Lance spoke up. “Arthur, if Merlin doesn’t want one, then there will be more for the two of us. I did bring two bottles, just in case.”

But the challenge in Arthur’s eyes was enough. Merlin took a long, long drink, then as the bubbles and the rest of it made him a bit light-headed, he finished off whatever was in his glass. And wiggled it for more. “Doesn’t matter. Arthur has seen me at my worst already. The port I have in my office can be quite savage. What’s a little champagne among friends?”

Lance brightened at that. “I’d love to talk to you about your castle, Merlin. From what I’ve seen, you have a stunning site, worthy of years of excavation and study.”

His brown eyes were so much like Lancelot’s, warm, intense, understanding, that Merlin wanted to confess everything and just bask in finding his old friend again. But he wasn’t a friend, instead a stranger breaking the rules he’d set up with Arthur.

Glancing at Arthur who was staring down into his empty glass, Merlin said, “Did Arthur take you up to the castle?”

For a moment, Lance hesitated. It seemed as if he were going to lie about it, Arthur sending him a meaningful look, but instead, after another swallow of champagne, Lance said, “I know Arthur wasn’t supposed to take me there, but his enthusiasm was infectious. Please don’t blame him for my insistence. It’s a fantastic site.”

Merlin put down his glass, frowned at both Arthur and Lance. “Did he warn you about the unstable walls and the potential sinkholes or that fact that he was almost killed the other day?”

Looking as if he did understand just how worried Merlin was, Lance nodded. “We’ve dealt with that sort of thing at countless digs, Mr Emrys. I broke my leg in one wall collapse. It’s a part of the dangers in any archaeological site.”

Great, now Merlin had to think about all the times Arthur might have been killed working digs. It was bad enough seeing him on the ground, groaning, rocks falling all around them, looking so much like his Arthur after doing something heroically stupid that it still made him ache. 

His voice sharp, Merlin said, “And the fact that it might happen on my land and you under my protection didn’t bother you in the slightest?”

“Mr Emrys, we accept the consequences of our own actions. I would never blame you for it.” Lance glanced toward Arthur who stood there, shrugging.

The way they were acting as if it were nothing just made Merlin angrier. “Did you think that maybe I would? Blame myself for it?”

Arthur stepped closer, half-shielding Lance from Merlin’s fury as he said, “Merlin, it was my idea, not Lance’s. I thought he could give me some insight as to what to do next. The site is so large and complex that there are a lot of possibilities, and because of the restrictions that you insisted upon, I’m trying to come up with the best way to approach the study.”

“So, you _are_ blaming me. And did you think that maybe your injuries and what else might have happened to you scared the hell out of me and that was why I didn’t want you bringing anyone else into this?” Merlin said, scowling at him.

Arthur looked stunned for a moment.

Merlin was just angry enough to say, “Dr Drake, if you can’t obey the rules, then I wonder if we should bring our relationship to an end.”

Arthur stood there, frowning down at his drink, then sending a look toward Lance, he said, “I don’t… Merlin, that’s… fine, I was wrong. I’ll make sure in future to ask you first. All right?”

He almost sounded contrite, well as contrite as only a prat could be. And with that, Merlin’s anger cooled a little. “Are you apologizing?” 

“Is that so surprising?” Arthur said.

“With you, yes.” Merlin sent Arthur a little nod, trying to take the sting out of it.

Lance seemed to understand. Giving Arthur a half-hearted punch on the arm, Lance snickered. “He has you there, Artie.”

“I hate that nickname. And I think you’ve had quite enough.” Rubbing at where Lance hit him, faking a kind of indignance that only good friends could understand, Arthur said, “I’ve been known to apologise. When I’m wrong. Which is not often, I’ll have you know.”

“Typical.” Merlin muttered, “That would explain why you are so bad at it.”

Lance sent Merlin a grin, then sobered. “It was my fault. When I saw the castle, there was just something about it. I know Arthur would disagree, but I felt I’d been there before. I was drawn to it. It’s almost as if I knew each room, where the stairways would lead, and the secret passageways. It was almost eerie, certainly puzzling to say the least.”

Merlin saw it for the apology it was. “Well, castles do tend to take the same form. It’s not surprising you felt that way.”

“That’s what I said.” Arthur glared at Lance, then at Merlin before taking another sip from his nearly empty glass.

“I’ve never felt such a strong pull before.” Nodding, Lance stared at Merlin a moment, a confused look on his face. “And if I might say, have we met? I mean before today.”

“Not in this lifetime.” Merlin said, “Why do you….”

But Arthur interrupted, looking annoyed. “Oh, bloody hell, not that again.”

“It’s a figure of speech.” Merlin frowned at Arthur, watching the clotpole roll his eyes and wave his hand around as if to indicate that Merlin was not in his right mind, then Merlin turned back to Lance. “Arthur’s told me that you are more open to… new ways of thinking.”

Lance looked as if he were more amused than anything. “Well, in his defence, Art’s father was very strict. No Harry Potter, no Arthurian legends, no mythology or anything that wasn’t of the here and now. Although Art’s been sneaking books under the old bastard’s nose for years.”

“Lance, that’s enough.” There was pink on Arthur’s cheeks and he seemed embarrassed by it all. 

Merlin wanted to laugh. It felt like old times, like the banter and insults they used to fling at each other. ”Nothing of Beowulf or magicians or the Druids awaiting the Once and Future King? No magic or unicorns or dragons?”

Lance nodded. He appeared to be enjoying ruffling Arthur’s composure just a little. “Well, there isn’t much evidence for them, but I’ve seen a few things in my time that I couldn’t explain.”

“Now I’m surrounded by idiots. I’m cutting you both off.” Putting his empty glass down with a decided clink, Arthur buried his face in his hands for a moment, then looking up again, glared at them both. “For once and all, there is no magic, there is no Once and Future King. There is only myth and gossip gone astray. Was there a Camelot? Maybe, and that’s why I’m here. But until I’ve proof positive, I’m not going to speculate on the existence of King Arthur or Myrddin the wise or anything else.”

Merlin snickered, then said to Lance, “Artie doesn’t believe in unicorns.”

“It’s sad really.” Lance grinned.

Merlin grinned back. “I think I like you, Dr DuLac.”

“I’m going to bed.” Arthur was already half-way to the door, muttering to himself about traitorous friends and revenge.

Lance called after him. “We’ve only started the second bottle.”

“And you can finish it without me.” Arthur said, loud and clear, his words echoing down the hallway.

“Is he always this prickly when he’s had too much to drink?” Merlin said.

“I heard that.” Arthur sounded a bit miffed, but far away, likely near his room.

They waited a few moments to see if there were any more declarations of displeasure and when none came, Lance said, “I’ve known him a long time. He’s my best mate but he takes things too much to heart. He’s had a few bumps in the road the last couple of years.”

Merlin could understand that. “His father?”

“Among other things.” Lance nodded, but he didn’t seem to want to say anything else about Arthur, Instead, he said, “I felt very much at home at your castle, more than any place I’ve ever been. Has anything been published?”

What that meant, Merlin didn’t have a clue. Was Lance the reincarnation of his old friend from millennia ago? Or just someone sensitive to the currents of magic flowing around the place? And what did that mean for Arthur Drake, was he his Arthur reborn or just a cruel coincidence to torment Merlin for another thousand years? 

“Not a thing.” Merlin took another small sip of champagne, then put it down. Carefully, he said, “Outside a few paintings, there’s nothing on my castle in the records at all. No site drawings, no surveys, no architectural maps of any kind.”

Frowning a bit at that, looking as if it confused him, Lance said, “That seems odd considering its size and location. But I’m sure Art will change that. He’s very thorough.” Putting down his own glass, Lance stepped a bit closer. His hands twitching a bit as if eager to get his hands on whatever Merlin had collected over the years, he said, “And have you any artefacts you would like me to look at? My speciality is preservation, but weaponry and trade goods, especially Britannic post-Roman era, are also interests of mine.”

Never mind that there was an archaeologist’s treasure trove under the ruins. Merlin had done a lot of collecting in the centuries since Arthur died, bits and pieces of things imbued with magic from Albion and beyond. Not knowing how much power Arthur would need when he did return, Merlin played it safe.

Amassing enough magical relics to fill Sigan’s crypt, Merlin had done so over the strenuous objections of the Druids and other magical folk that sought him out to protest. The tomb was a perfect place for the artefacts, deep underground and surrounded by cold iron and magic. Protected and shielded from sight, waiting, waiting.

Of course, he’d dismissed all their concerns. Arthur’s return was more important than a few complaints, and after a while, the Druids had left him alone. Sometimes, though, he felt more like a dragon guarding a vast precious hoard from intruders than as keeper of Arthur’s legacy.

But Lance didn’t need to know that. Besides, Lancelot wouldn’t have recognised their worth anyway.

Looking almost uninterested, Merlin shrugged. “Mostly bits and pieces, nothing worth saving.”

Shoulders slumping, Lance seemed disappointed. “Well, let me know if I can help in any way.” When Merlin nodded, Lance hesitated a moment, biting at his lip, then staring at Merlin, he said, “You really shouldn’t blame Arthur for taking me there, you know. I’ve never seen him so excited about a project before.”

“He seemed to think this may be Camelot, but he’s wrong.” Much as Merlin would have liked to have Lancelot as confidant, that way lay madness. Instead, he knew it was time to lay the seeds of doubt in Lance’s mind.

Lance seemed to dismiss the idea, though. “He’s not been wrong often, and while Art says he only goes with hard facts and things he can actually hold in his hands, and how everything else is just the mind tricking itself into nonsense, he’s really quite attuned to the atmosphere of a place. He’s discovered more than a few things going on intuition alone.” When Merlin looked unconvinced, Lance gave a little chuckle. “He’ll use it, deliberately or otherwise, and just deny it… vehemently, when I call him on it.”

That was interesting, more than interesting. It was raising alarm bells in Merlin’s head. Was Lance saying that Arthur’s abilities were not just training but something more, perhaps something linked to a kind of magic?

Merlin nodded. “And yet, when I press him on magic – not that I really believe in such things, but because it’s such a great way of winding him up, he will rise to the bait, deny it in no uncertain terms, and go off in a snit.” Merlin stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Are you saying that he’s more in touch with a wider world than can be easily explained?”

Lancelot stared at Merlin for a long time, looking as if trying to fathom him out. What he saw must have satisfied him somehow. Nodding, he said, “I wouldn’t call it magic. Not in the way the old-fashioned powers of witches and warlocks were described. But there were times when he knew just what to do at just the right moment. And I think if he believes this may be Camelot, he might not be wrong.”

“Even over my knowledge and history of my own family’s heritage?” Merlin schooled his voice into a flat, unyielding line. It was time to push back and turn Lance’s doubts into solid stone.

But Lance wasn’t so easily swayed. “Even families can be wrong. My own told me of legends in the DuLac family histories that turned out to be so much wistful thinking. And what I’d thought were lies to be true. I think if there is solid evidence, then we can’t dismiss it out of hand.”

“We’ll see.” Merlin made it sound as if the evidence would never be found. “Anyway, it will either be there or not. Besides, Arthur’s told me that it’s just a job. That doesn’t sound all that mystical.”

Lance frowned at him. “Arthur told you that?”

Merlin shrugged. “A few times. Why?”

“He’s said that to me as well, but it’s not just a job to him. It’s so much more.” Lance seemed to stare at Merlin a moment, then something must have made him realise how that could be construed. But he didn’t take it back. Instead, he said, “But it’s… obviously, the champagne has gone to my head. I’ll say good night before I make a complete fool of myself.”

Lance sent Merlin a little smile, then turned and walked away, unsteady but resolute.

As he watched Lance turn the corner and go into the guest room, Merlin stood there a moment, thinking hard.

Lance was sure Arthur had some kind of special intuition, used deliberately at times. Was Lance fooling himself or was there something more than a mistake in his judgement? Was Arthur, this Arthur, attuned to the magic that often surrounded places of history and myth? Or was it just a sharp eye and knowledge? And if so, why would Arthur be so adamant about magic being a ridiculous construct?

More questions than answers. At least now Merlin had something more to think on than endless centuries of loneliness and grief.


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin slept badly. Memories of Arthur’s death and Lance’s seemed to jumble into Merlin searching endless rooms for them both. There was an urgency to it, as if Merlin finding them in time would change the past and the future. As his dreams saw the walls of Camelot come crashing down, only his magic keeping someone, face shadowed, from being crushed, he woke suddenly, gasping for breath. 

It took a while but the sound of birdsong or rather two crows arguing outside his window and the faint clink of plates and voices echoing in the hallway, were enough to shake off the remnants of horror and remind Merlin that he had guests.

A quick shower, and Merlin was almost ready to face them both.

Lance was already finished with his breakfast and cleaning up, Arthur halfway through eggs and a rasher of bacon. Arthur put his coffee cup down when he saw Merlin standing there, and said, “I thought we might take Lance to see more of the castle. He’s especially curious about the northeast tower, and frankly, I am, too. You said something about it being unstable, but if we are careful, it might….”

Merlin shuddered. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

The dreams were still clawing at him. He knew it wasn’t a vision, just his own doubts morphing into worry, but it didn’t make it any less real.

Arthur gave a little sigh, then he looked at Lance, shrugging as if to say that he’d expected Merlin’s refusal, before turning back to him. “We’ll be careful. Besides, I’ve an ulterior motive.” As Lance shook his head, rolling his eyes a little, Arthur said, “Lance swears that he’s been there before. He even claims that he’ll be able to find his way through the castle blindfolded.”

“Art,” As Lance laid aside his cleaned plate, with fond exasperation in his voice, he said, “That’s not what I said, and you know it.”

Arthur pretended innocence. “Fine, a slight exaggeration, but still you claimed to know what was in the northeast tower and how it was laid out. I’m just trying to….”

“Rub my face in it if I’m wrong?” Lance raised his eyebrows a moment, staring down at Arthur who was still eating as if the threat were nothing. It probably was. They were old friends after all.

Arthur swallowed, then said, “Well… maybe. All that talk about intuition and mysticism is not your usual breakfast fare.”

Lance slid into a chair, smiling at Arthur. “You said you had enough of wedding plans. I was just trying to change the subject.”

“I’d rather hear about Gwen’s foray into cake choices or how your old professor and his third wife were having sordid sex with all of the team members digging at Hadrian’s Wall than that.” Arthur chomped down on the bacon, then chewed noisily, probably just to annoy Lancelot.

Lance laughed and shook his head. “Artie, do you know something that I don’t?”

“Gwen liked vanilla crème and strawberries.” Arthur sent Lance a simpleton’s smile, then seemed to wait for Lance to rise to the bait. It didn’t take long.

Blowing out a long sigh, Lance said, “Art, stop changing the subject.” He twisted around, looking at Merlin with something close to pleading in his eyes. “Merlin, I would very much like to see the tower and find out if my intuition is right. I could almost swear I’ve been there before, that I’ve lived in those rooms, and while Arthur is still rolling his eyes at me, I hope that you can see your way clear to letting me prove my point.”

Arthur let out a rude noise, then said, ‘That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve…”

“Very well, Dr DuLac.” Merlin couldn’t help it. The way the two men were reacting touched something joyful in Merlin’s chest. He’d missed the give and take of friendship and to watch them both, made him both sad and eager to see more. Besides, he was curious about Lancelot’s claims. If Lance could find his way around without prodding, it would certainly raise questions about exactly why he was so knowledgeable.

As Arthur sat there, looking more than a little confused, Merlin said, “We can go after Arthur’s finished. I’ll grab an apple, and my torch and we’ll see if the tower you want to explore is stable enough for guests.”

“I thought…” Arthur looked from Merlin to Lancelot and back again. “You told me….”

“Now I’m untelling you.” Merlin leaned over, plucking an apple from pile in the bowl, then took a large bite out of it. Wiping his chin with one hand, he said, “Lance seems to understand my reluctance, unlike someone else in this room. If, however, you don’t want to go, Arthur, you can wait here.” Then he gave Arthur a brilliant, taunting smile, one he knew would get under Arthur’s skin. It felt right, like old times. Or perhaps the beginnings of something new, too. 

Arthur shoved the rest of his egg into his mouth and chewed. As he swallowed, glaring at Lance who was trying and failing to hide a smile, he said, “I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Merlin didn’t even bother taking them the hard way around. He didn’t need to wind Lancelot up and he’d already proven his point with Arthur. It was a brilliant morning, blue skies with a hint of storm clouds later, and Merlin wanted to take advantage of it before the inevitable rains came.

Lance led the way. Merlin wanted to see just how much this Lancelot remembered, if anything, or if it was just wishful thinking. Or perhaps, Arthur was right to think that castles were pretty much laid out the same way and it wasn’t more than that.

As they teetered across the wooden planks and into the courtyard, Arthur turned to Lance. “Okay, Doctor Mystical Powers and all that rot, which way?”

Lance pointed across to the northeast tower. “The stairs lead up to a second landing, and that’s where the hallway splits off. The rooms are above. Or am I wrong, Merlin?”

“Good guess, Sir Lancelot.” As he waved his hand toward the stairs, a clear invitation, Merlin said, “It’s called Arthur’s Tower by the locals.”

Arthur grinned, the git. He stood a bit taller, almost as if he were rather proud about the fact that there was a tower with his name on it. “They have excellent taste if I do say so myself. Is there a reason why? Local stories or a legend or two?”

As Merlin walked onto the first step, he said, “They have romanticized this place quite a bit. They take pride in thinking it’s Camelot and will tell any naïve bumpkin that.”

Arthur shot him a look that threatened retribution for such an insult.

Merlin tried not to smirk back at him. “After all the legends, a source of nationalistic bombast and longing for the _good old days_ , it would be quite a coup for the village and a lot of tourist coin if it turned out to be true… which it is not.” 

Arthur opened his mouth, likely to protest, but closed it again.

Lance, on the other hand, huffed a little laugh. “One thing Art is not, is a bumpkin. A wanker definitely, a prat, too, at the best of times but not naïve.”

Merlin just gave Lance a look of patient disbelief, then took another few steps up the stairs and into the coolness of the first landing. Normally there would be doves cooing in the fastness of the ceiling joists, but the pair of hawks that had attacked the drone had chased them away. Now, there was only the echo of feet, and history painting the walls. As Merlin looked up, the windows were making patterns in the stairway, the brilliant light and stark shadows a reminder of what once had been.

It didn’t help that Arthur’s voice and Lance’s were soft behind him.

Shaking himself clear of the sudden longing for the past, Merlin turned back and said, “So where next? The rooms above are in relatively good shape. I think the thickness of the outer walls helped and the floors haven’t rotted away yet. We even replaced some of the windows recently to keep the rain from damaging them further.”

With that, Lance pushed past him, Arthur in his wake. “Come on, then.”

It was clear that Lancelot knew where he was going. He went right, then left into the knights’ quarters, and pushed unerringly past a pile of broken stone into what had once been Lance’s room.

It was empty now, the furnishings and possessions long since gone. Lance stood there, blinking, frowning, looking as if he was surprised it was empty. He circled the room once, searching for something, then when he didn’t find it, he walked over to the window, and looked out.

Arthur said, softly, carefully, “Lance? What is it?”

For a long while, Lancelot said nothing. He just stared into the courtyard. Finally, he said, “I’m not sure. I guess I just… it’s ridiculous but I thought….”

“It’s just a room, and the walls are showing their age. Did you expect anything else?” Arthur seemed to understand how confused Lance was. No mocking of expectations, no telling him how ridiculous it all was. But when Lance simply shrugged, disappointed, Arthur said, “How about after I take a few pictures, we look around a bit? I’d like to see more of the castle. It’s in remarkably good shape considering and this is the first time Merlin has let me get past the doorway.”

With that, Arthur turned, mock-glaring at Merlin before getting out his camera and snapping several pictures.

For a moment, Lance didn’t say anything, then he shook off whatever was bothering him, and said, “Sure, Art. Of course. I’ll get out of the way.” As he walked to the doorway, standing next to Merlin, he glanced at him. “Did your family find anything here? Even bits and pieces can tell a story.” 

Merlin didn’t know what Lance was looking for. He’d burned Lancelot’s cloak after that first terrible day when Lancelot sacrificed himself to the Dorocha. He had given away everything else. The room remained empty until Lancelot’s shade returned, and after that, Merlin used magic to scour the place clean so that nothing of the false Lancelot DuLac remained. And that had been centuries in the past.

“Sorry, no, nothing.” But still he owed Lance something. “This room was completely empty, has been for several generations of my family. If there was anything here, it’s long gone. Perhaps you are mistaken in your instinct about it?”

Lance frowned. “Perhaps. I’ve been wrong before.”

With that, Arthur lifted his camera, and said, his voice eager, “All done here. Could we see more of the rooms in _Arthur’s_ tower?”

At that, the mood lightened a little. Merlin wasn’t sure if Arthur was trying to distract Lance or if he just wanted to get on with it, but whatever it was, it worked.

“You are like a kid in a candy shop,” Lance said, rolling his eyes a little, grinning as he did. “Merlin hasn’t forgotten about you. Or your tower.”

Merlin was sure Lance had meant it to be light-hearted, that he was teasing Arthur as he had since he’d arrived. But it was a sudden reminder of everything Merlin had ignored in the last few weeks.

Shuddering a moment, he realised he wanted to bask in Arthur Drake’s smile. That he’d come to enjoy Arthur’s laugh and the way Arthur was so eager to learn about the castle, the dedication he had to his goals, the way he joked with Lance and even Merlin himself.

It didn’t help that this Arthur looked like his king, sounded like him, even down to the same tantalizing warmth that he tried to hide behind professionalism and standoffishness.

He’d forgotten Arthur Pendragon and it hurt like hell to realise how much he’d betrayed the man he’d lived an eternity for.

If it had been any other man than Arthur Drake, he could have loved him a little while, let him go with few regrets and some warm memories, and moved on. It had happened a few times over the centuries, more for the memory of touch and fleeting companionship than any real need to connect.

But Arthur, this Arthur, had the possibility of more. And that scared the hell out of Merlin.

“Merlin? Merlin?” Lance’s voice seemed to finally get through. When Merlin turned to him, Lance said, “You were far away for a moment. Is there a problem?”

A huge one, but Merlin would have to address that in the confines of his lonely room, not while two pairs of eyes were watching his every move. Instead, Merlin shook his head. “No problem. Just lost in thought. Nothing to worry about.” But before Lance could ask, Merlin nodded toward the hallway. “I believe Dr Drake wanted to see _his_ tower. We should probably finish up the tour before the weather worsens.”

Watching Merlin, Arthur looked concerned for a moment, then nodded. “I would like to see some of the larger chambers. Most likely where the nobles or well-to-do lived.” But he didn’t tease Lance or make him lead the way.

Instead, Arthur walked past them both, and turned in the direction of Arthur’s old rooms. He didn’t even hesitate, as if he knew where he was going. “Like I said, these castles have similar patterns at times. If I’m not mistaken, the royal apartments are this way.” He didn’t wait for a reply. He just strode off. Merlin and Lance followed in his wake.

Merlin walked next to Lance, whispering, “I’m sorry you didn’t find what you were looking for. The castle has been abandoned for centuries and there was looting in the past. It wouldn’t make sense for anything to remain behind, would it?”

“No, it was a bit of foolishness on my part. Of course, nothing would remain, not with this site so exposed.” Lance gave Merlin a little smile. “Thanks for not mocking me, though.”

Merlin sent him a smile back. “I’ll leave that to Arthur.”

Ahead, Arthur grumbled, “I heard that.” But he didn’t slow down. He turned unerringly up the stairs, past Morgana’s old rooms, and into the chambers that Merlin knew so well.

The room, of course, was empty. Merlin hadn’t been lying about the looters, but there were scraps of memory there, the scars in the stonework by the window where his Arthur had dug into with his knife whenever he felt off-balance, the flakes of original plaster on the floor around the fireplace, carvings on the walls that were still crisp and clear. Merlin had warded the room after he’d returned to Camelot so many years later, but others had lived there in the years after Arthur’s death until the castle’s final abandonment, and the looters were pretty thorough.

Still, it didn’t stop Arthur from examining the stone walls, the dust gathered against the corners, looking for who knows what. He took photos, too, but he seemed more intent on feeling his way around than recording his findings.

But while Merlin watched him work, Arthur knelt suddenly, ran his fingers over a faint rough patch in the stonework near the floor. In the old days, Arthur’s bed had been against that wall, and honestly, Merlin had always been a bit of a crap servant. He’d never cleaned past the obvious.

But something was there. Grinning, Arthur called them both over, and pointed. 

In letters, barely visible and wonky, was a name, ARTUR, the second R carved backwards, and a crude crown next to it. Something a mischievous child might have dug into the stone when bored or unhappy or alone.

Arthur was beside himself with excitement. “I won’t say that this proves this is Camelot, but it makes a case for someone named Arthur living here sometime in the past.”

Merlin didn’t say anything. His magic was bubbling happily underneath his skin at the discovery. Never mind that he’d not seen it before, or else he’d been so caught up in his grief that he’d missed it somehow.

But he could feel the truth of it. His Arthur, annoying child that he must have been, had carved his name into the stone, hiding it from prying eyes and Uther who would certainly have disapproved.

Picturing a blond head bowed low, his little knife scrapping away, trying to make a mark in the world while still hiding what he’d done, afraid to be caught yet still determined, Merlin suddenly wanted to know that child. He wanted to tell him that it would be all right, that someday he’d have a friend who would understand. Blinking back tears, he turned away.

Behind him, Lance was being more realistic. “Art, it certainly had potential, but it could be the looters Merlin mentioned or even kids in the village who carved that.”

Arthur nodded, taking several pictures at different angles as he knelt there. “I know. It’s unlikely that I’ve just found definitive proof of King Arthur living here, but at least let me bask in my delusions a little while.”

“How did you know where to look?” Lance said.

Standing up, brushing off his knees, Arthur thought a moment. “I don’t know. I just… it seemed like it would be there.”

“In that spot, in a room you’ve never been in before?” Lance frowned down a minute at the name. “Is that where a typical carving would be?”

“Lance, don’t start.” Arthur shook his head, then turned to Merlin. “Was it here before? Is Lance right, that it was a bit of graffiti from the village kids?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’ve never noticed it before, sorry. I just don’t know. Looks old, though.”

“Yeah, it does.” Arthur thought a moment, then said, “I know you didn’t do any testing to determine when the castle was built, but there is easily enough wood flooring to do tree ring analysis. It should be enough to give us an exact date as to when they were cut down. My grant would cover the cost, of course.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say. Arthur was right but that kind of data would certainly make it that much harder to insist that the ruins weren’t from the time of Arthurian legend.

Instead, he ignored the question, as he had done so many times in the past. As he turned away, he pointed toward the door. “I think you’ll find the other rooms may be a bit more interesting. I did find a gold coin in the room down the hallway. It was too worn, unfortunately, so it wouldn’t really help with dating. There were bits of rotting fabric, too. They looked like linens and wool. No Arthurian carvings, though, sorry.”

Sending Merlin a look, Arthur seemed to know what Merlin had done but he let it go. “Sounds like we should see it. Of course. I’ve enough photos for now.”

With a reluctant look backwards, Arthur gave a little shake of his head, then strode to the doorway and through it. He turned left, towards Morgana’s old rooms, not waiting for Lance or Merlin.

With a shared look of exasperation, Lance just shrugged and followed. Merlin lingered for a moment, staring down at the crude carving, and wondered why he hadn’t noticed it before. Then shaking off his confusion, he hurried to catch up.


	9. Chapter 9

After Morgana had shown her true colours, and while Arthur still lived, no one had gone into Morgana’s rooms. Arthur missed her, loved her, and mourned her every day. He’d told Merlin that, even to the last, he thought she would find her way back to his side as a true sister, and that she would need reminders of a sweeter past to keep her happy if she did.

But so much of her darker magic remained, embedded in the walls. After her death, and years later when all had gone to wreckage and ruin, Merlin thought it a stain on Camelot’s glorious past, and sealed her chambers.

Even now, as he followed Arthur towards her rooms, he could feel the pulse of malevolence there. He should have used his magic to clear it of darkness as he had Lancelot’s room, but he still felt guilty about what she’d become and how he’d played a part in it. It was a constant reminder of choices made, of what he did to her and to them all in the end. And over the years, he went into her rooms as often as Arthur’s. Punishment for his sins.

How Drake knew where to go was another mystery. Merlin thought he might keep walking past her rooms, but instead he stopped, trying to push the door open. 

As he muttered about stuck doors, Merlin unsealed it with a quick glow of eyes. And when Arthur tried again, he stumbled into the room, Lance chuckling behind him.

Morgana’s room was in much better shape than the others. The plaster was still fairly intact and the delicate carvings sharp as the day she’d left.

Merlin gave a shiver as he entered, a breeze of cold and dust and memories sweeping past him. The other two didn’t seem to notice, though, as they puttered around the room. Arthur took photos, Lance pointing out shapes that might indicate time period and the status of the person living there. There were bits of cloth in the corners and Arthur, ever prepared, pulled out a plastic bag and tweezers and put them into the bag and sealed it. Lance nodded, clearly pleased to find anything.

The gloom, though, seemed to intensify, and Merlin shuddered a bit, glancing over his shoulder as if to catch whoever or whatever was watching them. There was no one there, of course. There never was.

But the press of darkness itched his spine and he found it hard to breathe. It had always been difficult entering the room, the memories and corruption pressing against his heart, but with the others there, it seemed especially vile. Almost as if the malevolence had multiplied since the last time he opened the room.

As Merlin stepped back, trying to shake off his unease, Arthur frowned in his direction. Lance looked around, too, calling out Merlin’s name, and reaching for him. But the sounds were muffled. His magic was squirming under the surface, or maybe trying to get away.

Behind Arthur, a sudden wind came up, rattling the windows, and there was hard rain and the distant crack of lightning. Lance and Arthur spun around at the noise. As the storm intensified, there was another strike much closer and the window fractured, splintering inward, and a mixture of old glass and new cut through the air.

Merlin couldn’t control the shards flying at them, his magic was muted, but he had to do something. Instinct and a determination not to see them hurt, he threw up a shield, transparent but with a faint glow, into the air.

The glass seemed to bounce off, then clinking to the floor with an almost musical sound. To Merlin’s ears, it seemed to go on forever, but in the next instant, there was another flash of light, and thunder echoed again, further away.

Knowing that he’d revealed himself, trying desperately to decide how to spin what they must have seen into a plausible and very non-magical explanation, he turned toward them. Arthur’s arm was up, looking as if he’d been trying to shield his eyes from the inevitability of getting hurt, and he was lowering it even as Merlin stepped toward them both.

Lancelot, too, had turned away, but as he twisted around, he kept glancing at the broken window, at the glass littering the floor, and then at Merlin as if puzzled. Or suspicious.

Merlin hurried over, staring at Arthur, frowning even as he touched Arthur’s hair, checked at the underside of his jaw, looking as if he was trying to see if Arthur had been hurt. “Are you alright? Arthur? Lance? Any cuts? Are you both okay?”

Shaking Merlin off, Arthur shook his head. “I’m fine. Just lucky that we weren’t cut. I thought for sure we’d be heading back to the A&E again. Unless Lance….” Arthur turned away, toward Lancelot. “Are you all right?”

Lancelot nodded. “Just lucky. It would have been a lot worse. I don’t think the glass even came in this far.”

Glancing down for a moment, Merlin could see the clear demarcation line where the glass fragments had hit the shield and then fallen. It looked odd. It was a question waiting to be asked, and as Merlin turned back to Lance, he deliberately scuffed through it, scattering it all into chaos.

Lance scowled at that, looking up at Merlin with sharp eyes. He didn’t say anything, just turned back toward the door. “Looks like the rain has settled in. I guess we’ll have to make a run for it?”

“I’ve umbrellas stored at the gatehouse. I’ve been caught here a few times, so I just leave them there.” Merlin gestured toward the door. “Have you seen enough, or do you want to see the ruined banquet hall or perhaps the rooms in Uther’s tower?”

While Arthur looked eager to push on, Lancelot said, “What about the window? Shouldn’t we cover it with something?”

Merlin shook his head. “I’ll deal with it tomorrow. I’ve become quite adept at repairing windows and I’ve stores of raw materials at home.”

“Was it all new glass? Some of it looked quite old,” Arthur said.

Merlin saw no reason to lie. After all, it’s not like the small fragments would reveal anything. “There were a few pieces that were original as far as I know.” He scuffed through the remnants. “But this will all have to go in the dustbin.”

Arthur made a little sound, then took out another bag, and carefully gathered a few of the larger fragments to put inside. “I’ll have metal analysis run on these to see the content. It might give us some insight as to where it was manufactured and when.”

Merlin shrugged. “Perhaps Northumbria. I believe they had a glass-making community throughout the timeframe you are interested in.”

Lance smiled at that. “Sounds as if you spent some time studying English history.”

“You have no idea.” He wanted to match Lance’s smile, but the weight of years seemed suddenly to be an impossible burden.

Walking to the door, waving one hand to indicate that they should press on, Merlin said, “How about the southeast tower, the rain should have abated by then, and after I’ll make us all lunch?”

Lance took the hint. “Lunch sounds good. Lead on, McDuff.”

And that was that.

The tower where Uther lived and worked was in much better shape than the rest. The roof had remained relatively intact over the centuries so there had been little water damage. Only time and the looters had turned it into a hollow shell of what it once was. But Merlin remembered the terror whenever he’d been dragged into the council room on suspicion of magic — too many times, or when Arthur dined with his father and Uther stared at Merlin as if trying to puzzle him out or made some kind of cutting remark about the disposability of servants. They weren’t good memories.

But Arthur and Lancelot seemed pleased with how much remained, and by the time they were done looking around, it was far past lunch.

At least the rain had slowed to a fine mist and the lightning strikes were long since over.

When they arrived back at Merlin’s house, he left them both to light the fire in the lounge while he went to prepare food. The events of the day had tired him and there were too many questions, confusing and unexplained, for him to think up believable lies to cover them all.

At least, bringing sandwiches and the remnants of the champagne they’d not finished the night before into the lounge gave Merlin a sense of purpose, even if it was to be a servant once again.

As he set down the food and drink, Arthur and Lance glanced up. They’d been murmuring, too low for Merlin to hear, and then after exchanging a look, gathered around the food and tucked in.

Swallowing first, Lance said, “I’ve got to catch the 6 o’clock back to London. I’ve meetings in the morning that I can’t miss.” Arthur shook his head, then shrugged. “I want to thank you for this. It’s been fascinating and I see that Arthur has a long haul ahead of him, just mapping out your property. I hope that I might come back at some point and lend a hand, if you wouldn’t mind.”

Merlin knew this would be a problem. Lancelot was sharper, more observant that Merlin was comfortable with. 

But he also felt at ease with Lancelot, almost as if there were layers of his old friend just underneath the surface. Before he could think about it, he said, “I think we could have you onboard whenever you are free. Although Arthur had told me you are on an important dig somewhere in the north. Sounds like you might not be able to get away as often as Arthur would like.”

Arthur looked up at that, smiling, then almost as if he were afraid Merlin would change his mind, he said, “Any help would be wonderful. As you can see, the site is enormous, and I certainly can’t handle it alone.” He grimaced a little at that. He must have realised how it sounded. “Of course, Merlin has been helping, he’s been invaluable so far, and he seems to be up on the latest techniques, much to my happy surprise.”

“Don’t give Lance any ideas. I’m just an amateur who happens to read a lot.” Never mind that he probably had as much experience as the two of them combined, but they didn’t need to know that.

Arthur smiled at that. “And go on digs. And know how to deal with the Lidar unit.”

Merlin shrugged, not wanting to say anything else. He was already having problems not blurting out how much he missed them both. It was hard not to wish for the kind of camaraderie he had with Lance so long ago. He wanted to laugh with Lancelot and remind him of their past friendship and have them both mock Arthur when he got too prattish. 

And he wanted to beg Arthur to know him at last, to stay with him and insult him and have Arthur sink into Merlin’s arms and never come out again.

Swallowing past the regret, Merlin said, “Arthur just likes my… castle.” When Arthur started to protest that it was more than that, Merlin laughed a little. “It’s been fun having Lance visit, but I think we need to watch the time. The trains don’t run often this far out.”

Arthur got up. “I’ll get his case. Be right back.”

They both watched as Arthur disappeared around the corner. Then Lancelot turned to Merlin. “I didn’t want to discuss it in front of Arthur because I think he would dismiss it out of hand, but what happened today? That shimmery thing I saw at the castle.”

Merlin froze. He’d hoped that in all the chaos, Lance had not noticed anything. Now all he could do was try and bluff it out. “The lightning?”

Lance shook his head. “No, it wasn’t lightning. I’ve had strikes close to me working out in the fields. This was… I don’t know how to even describe it. It looks like a transparent wall of some kind, or a shield, clear but with a hint of something more, fire perhaps?”

“Could have been a lightning ball. We get them occasionally.” Merlin shrugged, then tried to look uninterested when all he wanted to do was deny everything and then hide until he could breathe again. “I had black spots in my eyes for quite a while afterwards.”

“Whatever it was, it certainly saved us. Those glass fragments should have cut us all to ribbons and yet they never reached us.” Lance stepped closer, looking puzzled, looking as if he were thinking it through and coming to a conclusion that Merlin really didn’t want him to reach. He had to divert Lance somehow before it was too late, before Lance figured it all out. Lance said, “You must have seen the remnants on the floor. There was a clear demarcation, a pile of broken glass. Almost as if they hit a wall and then fell right there and no further. You stepped on it and then through it.”

“A wall of glass?” Merlin forced himself to look blank. “I didn’t see it, Lance, sorry.”

“Merlin, please. Broken glass and dust, in a straight line, on the floor. You must have seen it. It was odd. It didn’t make sense.” Lance was looking more and more perplexed.

“Dr DuLac, it’s been a long day. Perhaps what you saw was a coincidence or some kind of electrical phenomena. I didn’t see it and I think maybe you should just forget about it. Just leave it as a mystery unsolved. People might think you’ve been dabbling in magic mushrooms or hit your head or something, otherwise.” Merlin came over, gave Lance a little smile. “Arthur certainly would roll his eyes and give you and me a stern lecture about baseless speculation. Or seeing something that isn’t there.”

Lance narrowed his eyes at Merlin, as if he could see right through him. Before he could say anything else, Arthur arrived, suitcase firmly in hand.

“Ready? I’ve started up the truck.”

Lancelot turned to Merlin, looking as if he didn’t want to leave, as if he was ready to find out just what was going on there and then, but he must have realised that Merlin would keep denying whatever he was hiding. So instead, he thrust out his hand. “Thank you for having me, Merlin. It’s been a great opportunity to see something extraordinary. I’ll try and come back once my fieldwork is done for the season. I’d love to help out as best I can.”

Merlin shook his hand, wanting more than ever to clasp arms as they had in Camelot’s time. But it wasn’t to be. Instead, he said, “Any time, Lance. Just let us know.”

And with that, Lancelot and Arthur turned away and started walking to the door. At the last moment, Lance looked back, his eyes troubled, but then he nodded and turned away.

Once the truck was out of sight, Merlin let out a breath. That had been too close. Although he wasn’t sure what he would have done had Lancelot figured it out. After all, magic was just a ‘myth’ and Lancelot would have been mocked and even shunned had he announced such a thing.

But it hurt to watch Lancelot turn from potential friendship to suspicion.

And with that, Merlin felt even more alone.


	10. Chapter 10

Merlin had already cleaned up the remnants of supper and was sitting by the fire, dancing unicorns playing in the flames, when Arthur came back. A quick flick of his wrist and Merlin berated himself about being stupid and reckless. What was he doing relaxing his guard?

Arthur didn’t notice, of course. He just sat on the sofa next to Merlin, a glass of water in his hand. “I’m grateful that you’re willing to let him come back once his field work is done. He seemed pretty excited about it.” Putting down the water, he said, “I’d not realised how daunting the task was. Even just mapping out the buildings should take some time.”

Arthur had no idea how truly daunting a task it would be, especially when Merlin wasn’t going to be very helpful in the end. But he didn’t say anything. Instead, he sat there watching the fire light Arthur’s face, and pretending that the few inches between them wasn’t a chasm.

Arthur turned toward Merlin, his knee resting on the cushion close to Merlin’s thigh. Merlin could feel the heat of it. The very idea made him feel at the same time warm and wary. But he didn’t move away.

Arthur didn’t seem to notice Merlin’s confusion. He kept talking as he shifted around, sometimes his knee touching Merlin, sometimes not. “By the way, I gave the glass fragments to Lance. He’s promised to have them analysed. He was pretty insistent about it.”

Merlin thought he had more time, that Arthur would put the pieces aside for a much later analysis. “They aren’t very important, mostly what we’ve redone over the years.”

Nodding, Arthur took another sip, then put the empty glass down. “I told Lance that, but he had that look in his eye that he gets sometimes, and I didn’t have the heart to say no. Plus he promised to pay for it himself.”

When Merlin didn’t say anything else, just sent him a look, Arthur said, “I’ve known Lance forever. He’s really a good bloke, but he gets these ideas in his head sometimes and I haven’t the heart to disabuse him of it, although I will mock him mercilessly about it if he keeps it up.”

“Ideas? About something at the castle?” Merlin’s heart began to race. Had Lancelot talked to Arthur about the magical shield and the broken glass? Would he have to come up with another lie, when all he seemed to be capable of doing was lie and lie and lie to Arthur?

Luckily, Arthur waved his hand about, grimacing as he did. “It doesn’t matter. Besides I’m sure he’ll stop thinking about weird occurrences and feelings once he sees Gwen again.” Dismissing whatever Lance had said to him, Arthur gave him a quick smile. “They’re quite sickening as a couple.”

Merlin breathed a little easier. Changing the subject was so much easier than keeping track of all the falsehoods he’d told Arthur so far. “Lance seemed to be very excited about the wedding, plans notwithstanding. Had you known Gwen long, too?”

“I…,” Arthur looked away for a moment, frowning. Then a little nod, he said, “I dated Guinevere for several months before she met Lance. We… I thought we might even marry at some point. My father was for it, surprisingly, I guess because she was the first girl I’d ever noticed.”

“And then Lance came along.” Merlin didn’t want to push it, but Arthur seemed as if he needed to talk.

“It was more than that.” Arthur hesitated, then gave a long drawn out sigh. “Lance came back from a dig overseas and when they smiled at each other that first time, it was like a chorus of angels singing. Like I said, sickening.” His face took on a faraway look, bitter and resigned. “I could see them struggling not to fall into each other’s arms every time we went out of a drink, and finally Lance took another job out of the country just to put some distance in. Gwen put on a brave face and she tried, she really did, but in the end, I let her go.”

“You let her go.” Merlin wasn’t surprised. If Lancelot hadn’t left all those centuries ago, Arthur would never have married Gwen. It seemed right somehow that in this age, things were replaying as they should have in Camelot’s time.

“It wasn’t just her, though, or Lance.” Arthur shrugged, then sending a side glance to Merlin as if to gage whether or not Merlin would think the less of him, he said, “I’d met someone else, too. Someone who made me feel more alive than Gwen had ever done. The angels weren’t singing, but….”

When Merlin didn’t say anything, just sat there listening, Arthur seemed to relax just a little.

Wiping his hand across his mouth a moment, then letting out another long sigh, he said, “He was everything I wasn’t. Reckless, charming, but volatile and careless, too. Flirty as hell no matter how much I objected. And willing to try anything and everything…” Arthur’s eyes flicked up to Merlin’s, then slid away. “With anyone.”

Merlin wanted to give Arthur a hug. Instead, he reached out, his hand on Arthur’s shoulder a moment, squeezing it in sympathy, then let him go. “I’m sorry, Arthur. That must have been hard.”

Arthur slumped back against the couch, his head tilted up, staring at the ceiling. “I hope I’m not boring you with my tale of woe.”

“We all have our tales to tell. Some end more unhappily than others.” Merlin turned more toward Arthur, leaning, one hand on the back of the couch by Arthur’s head. “Did you throw the wanker out? Or at least give him a well-deserved kick in the bollocks?”

Arthur laughed at that, a short bark. “If I see him again, I just might.” He scrubbed his face again, then combed through his hair with clumsy fingers. He looked unkempt with it sticking up this way and that, but Merlin didn’t mind. His own Arthur had done the same. It reminded Merlin of good times, just the two of them, like now. 

“I’ll be your second, just in case you need one,” Merlin said.

Shaking his head, still staring up, Arthur said, “I don’t think it will come to duelling pistols at dawn, but I’ll keep you in mind.”

“I’m a good shot, and not bad with swords, either. Just so you know.”

Arthur glanced at him. “We’ll have to have a go at sword fighting. I’ve not done it in a while, since uni, but I do miss it.”

“We wouldn’t want you to get rusty. Perhaps later, I could arrange it.” When Arthur grinned, looking happy at the suggestion, Merlin said, “I hope I won’t disappoint you. I’m not that good.”

Arthur leaned forward a little, mouth close to Merlin’s ear, and whispered, stage-loud, “I am.”

Merlin laughed at that, then rolled his eyes. He didn’t move away, though, and was disappointed when Arthur slumped back again against the couch.

They didn’t say anything for a while. As Merlin sat next to Arthur, closer now, sometimes hands or thighs or arms touching as they settled in to watch the fire, he savoured the closeness, the warmth, the way Arthur smelled and the sound of his breathing.

He was surprised when Arthur said, “I didn’t kick him in the bollocks. I should have, though. Instead, like a fool, I ignored the obvious. I even asked him to marry me. When he realised I was serious, he cut me off, told me to find someone else. Then he left.” In a resigned voice, he said, “Put me off relationships entirely. So, my focus from now on is work. Period.”

It must have taken a lot of courage to tell Merlin that, even though he’d known most of it already from sneaking around and listening outside windows. And all he could do with that kind of courage was to match it a little with his own.

Swallowing a huge boulder in his throat, staring down at the fire, Merlin said, “I’ve only loved one person in my life. When he died, I… well, I’ve not found another.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Arthur frown at that. “But I thought… well, never mind.” A moment, an eternity of silence later, his voice soft and gentle, he said, “Was his name Arthur, too?”

Merlin turned in surprise. “How did you know?”

Arthur’s face pinked a little as if embarrassed. “You mumbled something in your sleep that night I put you to bed.”

Oh, hell. Merlin didn’t remember much about that night, other than gentle hands helping him undress, and a beloved voice talking with him. He’d thought it a dream. What else had he said? He started to panic at the possibilities.

Trying to keep his voice even, trying to pass it off as nothing, Merlin said, “Yeah, well, just ignore the ravings of a rat-arsed idiot. I do say things I oughtn’t when I’m pissed.”

Arthur grinned at that. “I’ll remember that next time.”

“Hopefully, there won’t be a next time. I’m pretty pathetic after a few.” Hands covering his face, he couldn’t look at Arthur.

“I don’t know. I found you rather hilarious.” Arthur snickered, his voice close to Merlin’s ear as he said, “A bit handsy, too, if truth be told.”

Merlin looked up in horror. “Oh, bloody hell. I’m sorry for that. I just don’t remember it at all.”

It just made Arthur’s grin widen. “No harm done. My bits remained intact as it were.”

Glancing down toward Arthur’s groin, then up again to see Arthur smirking at Merlin’s expense, Merlin said, “I wish I’d remembered that part.” Then when he realised what he’d implied, his cheeks flushed scarlet and he stammered out, “Oh, sorry Arthur, I didn’t mean… I mean.”

Arthur laughed. “It’s alright, Merlin. I remember enough for both of us.”

What could Merlin say after that? Only thing to do was completely change the subject and hope Arthur wouldn’t notice.

“What have you planned for tomorrow?”

Looking thoroughly amused by Merlin’s flustered reaction, Arthur sent Merlin another quick grin, then sobered.

“I’ve finished the data crunching on the Lidar scans. They look perfect. When the weather turns nasty, I’ll work on a 3-D rendering of the castle and its interior which could take quite some time. That way, I can keep track of any discoveries and I can properly identify where they came from.” When Merlin nodded, Arthur leaned forward, his arms resting on his knees. “When that’s finished, I plan on scanning the outer embankment and the area around your house to figure out what’s below the surface, then from there, I’ll likely begin a test trench to gather plant biologicals and identify any walls or artefacts. Of course, if I find a privy or two, that would be amazing.”

Merlin gave a little snort, shaking his head. He wasn’t above mocking Arthur a little, too. He knew the answer, but Arthur didn’t know that. “You like digging in people’s shit?”

Arthur grew more eager, his hands now waving in the air as if conducting some kind of symphony. “Oh, there is usually a ton of information there. People were constantly dropping things into cesspits, either by accident or design. Bones, pottery, even coins. Once we found thin wooden plates that had writing on them. A lost letter to a lover from the past. Roman, too. It was incredible.”

“It sounds it.” Merlin had read about the wooden plates. It had been a major find and Arthur lucky enough to have been the one to find them. In fact, Arthur had been on several digs where rather spectacular finds had occurred. He seemed to have the magic touch.

It was also one of the reasons he’d been so reluctant to allow Arthur here, but not the most important one. Staring into that beloved face and seeing nothing but a stranger there had been hard, was still hard.

Burying the melancholy deep inside, he put on a smile. Arthur’s enthusiasm had its own charms and Merlin was determined to enjoy them while he could.

Merlin said, “Well, I’ve shovelled enough manure in my day that I think I’ll leave you to it. But let me know how else I can help.”

“You do realise that I’m going to be here for the foreseeable future, don’t you?” When Merlin nodded, Arthur said, a cautious undertone in his voice, “When I look at the tasks ahead and what I’ll need to do, and it’s only the beginning of the work, honestly, it could take years, even with a team.”

“I already know that, Arthur. Don’t worry about it.” The idea that he’d be around for years was both thrilling and frightening. Merlin’s walls might crumble by then, Merlin might not be able to keep away from this man. He’d already let down his guard too often as it was.

But he shoved the thought aside. The future was unknown just yet, and Merlin was determined to stay strong. For his beloved king. 

Arthur seemed to relax at that. As he leaned over, resting his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, his warmth soaking into Merlin’s skin, Arthur said, “Merlin, thank you for letting Lance come.” He gave Merlin a little squeeze, then let go. “And for listening to me ramble on.”

Nudging Arthur, a grin on Merlin’s face, he said, “Any time.”

It got better after that. Arthur dug into his work — not literally although that would come in time. On good days, he’d be out with the geophys equipment mapping out the surrounding castle environs, Merlin helping him when he could.

On rainy days, they were inside, taking notes, using the laser scanner in the different rooms to determine size and style of the buildings, marking sight lines and coordinates on the laptop, and gathering artefacts, bits and pieces of lives left behind.

It was almost fun. Merlin was knowledgeable about the castle. He knew what was fragile and what was not. He didn’t lord it over Arthur, though, although he could have easily. It made him smile to see how excited Arthur got when he’d found the least little thing.

It took a few days, but Merlin did repair the window. After all, water was one of the most damaging things to wood and stone. But he did it as quickly as he could, not using magic at all but by hand. It felt tainted somehow when he went inside, and his magic was restless, his skin crawling as he worked.

It didn’t make sense, though. He’d been in that room often, and while it was uncomfortable in the years since Morgana died, the feeling had intensified since Arthur arrived. It was almost as if he’d been a catalyst for change.

Merlin’s magic, too, was growing more sensitive, wanting to escape often enough that Merlin had taken to midnight walks and letting it go in secret, hidden from view. If nothing else, the walls of the citadel were stronger now, not changed enough for Arthur to notice but more able to withstand wind and weather and intruders.

He hadn’t lost control like this in centuries. It was almost as if he were a child again, struggling for some semblance of constraint.

Even the artefacts Merlin had collected over the years, hidden deep in Sigan’s crypt, seemed to resonate whenever Merlin was nearby, the magic in them more intense, as if calling to him.

He didn’t know if it had something to do with this Arthur, that he’d some magic buried deep inside that Merlin’s own was reacting to it, or whether it was Merlin feeling the need to connect with someone who looked so much like his Arthur that his subconscious was acting up. Either way, it wasn’t good.

He made sure Arthur didn’t see him, though, using his magic. With Arthur’s attitude toward it, it could be very uncomfortable trying to explain it away.


	11. Chapter 11

It was a sunny day. Arthur was taking a break from struggling with his equipment, muttering something about strange signals fouling up his magnetometer readings, and needing to start over in greater detail on the east side of the site near Merlin’s house. Sitting on the garden wall, taking a long drink from his flask, Arthur looked golden in the light, and Merlin stood up from his weeding to admire the view.

And it was quite a view. Arms corded and strong, the way Arthur’s thighs tightened as he sat there, all that bright hair made dishevelled by Arthur’s busy fingers, the slight sweat gathering on Arthur’s handsome face and sliding down his neck. Even the scraps of dirt on Arthur’s shirt and trousers just added to it all.

Merlin’s hands were full of herbs, and although he wasn’t distracted enough to let them fall, his fingers itched to straighten Arthur’s collar, brush the dust off his chest, explore the lines of his neck down, down, down. But he shoved that feeling aside. He would allow himself to enjoy the view as long as it was from a distance and no closer.

Besides, his garden really didn’t need tending. Truth be told, he was there to listen to Drake grumble. He’d missed Arthur’s complaining over the centuries, not that he’d admit it, but he was strangely calmed by it all. It felt so normal, so much like Arthur of old, that it was hard to shake himself free from the notion that his Arthur had already returned and was standing next to him, just waiting for Merlin to realise it. But it wasn’t possible.

“Merlin? Earth to Merlin….” Arthur snapped his fingers right in front of Merlin’s nose, and Merlin jerked back.

“Sorry, what did you say?” Merlin blinked a moment, then gave Arthur a little smirk. “The droning was putting me to sleep.”

“The drone is broken, Merlin.” Arthur waved his hand in the direction of the barn where bits of the drone still lay in state.

“I was talking about you.” When Arthur shot him a scowl, Merlin shrugged, a lift of shoulders that spoke of gentle teasing, then he grinned at Arthur before getting back to the question at hand. “if you must know, there are more caves underneath where you’ve been scanning. The area is riddled with them. I wouldn’t dismiss your results so easily.”

Arthur did look a little put out that Merlin hadn’t told him about the other caves or the extent of the siege tunnels, but outside of a narrowing of his eyes, Arthur didn’t make a big fuss. “Can you show me where they are?”

Merlin nodded, then with his free hand, he grabbed Arthur’s arm, pulling him into the coolness of the barn. Arthur didn’t even protest. He just let himself be dragged toward the computer.

As he let Arthur go, putting the herbs to one side, as he sat down to pull up the map on the computer screen, Merlin said, “A lot of the caves aren’t easy to access. You might be too bulky to get into most of them, even if you sucked in your… ummm.” With that, Merlin’s smile widened, and he nodded toward Arthur’s waist.

“My what, Merlin?” When Merlin nodded again at Arthur’s very trim waist, Arthur looked down at his stomach, then back up at Merlin, and sputtered out, “Are you saying I’m fat?”

Trying hard not to laugh, Merlin said, “Well, your belt might be one hole shy of perfection.”

There was more sputtering, and Arthur did pull in his gut a moment before he relaxed. He must have realised that Merlin was teasing him. “Did you practice that insult, or did it come naturally?”

“With you, it does come pretty much straight out of my mouth.” Merlin shook his head. It was too easy at times.

Arthur gave a huff, half annoyance, half amusement, then he reached out and gave Merlin’s head a little shove. “No filter, then.”

Merlin scowled at that, brushing his hair back into some semblance of order, then because Arthur was still standing there so close, he used his shoulder to shove back, bumping against Arthur’s thigh and making him stumble a little. “You make it far too easy.”

“Next thing you know, you’ll be making up words. You look the sort.” Arthur grinned, then leaning over Merlin, staring at the map, using his fingers to bring up another data set, he said, “I’ll have to be careful then. Maybe do some research into inventive insults just to stay ahead.”

“I’ve had years to perfect them. I’ll leave you in the dust.” Merlin looked up, to see Arthur’s neck crowding his vision. Arthur was hovering close, too close, curled around Merlin as he worked at the computer. But Merlin wasn’t about to complain. For a moment, he felt enveloped, warm and wanted and at peace.

“Challenge accepted, Mr Emrys.” Arthur glanced down, sending Merlin a grin.

Merlin blinked at that, then smiled back. “Clotpole.”

Arthur stood up, one hand clasped against his chest. He gave a fake moan, then said, “I am hurt to the quick.” He shook his head. “An Oxford man can do better than that. Shakespeare, after all, said it first.”

Trying not to laugh, Merlin quoted, “Away, you starvelling, you elf-skin, you dried neat's-tongue, bull's-pizzle, you stock-fish!”

“Oh, Merlin, never change.” Arthur reached out and clapped Merlin on the back, still grinning as he said, “Henry IV, part one.”

Merlin had to concede that it might be harder than it looked. Arthur was well-read. “I’ll have to think on it, then.”

“You do that,” Arthur said, then as Merlin turned back to the computer, Arthur leaned over him again, and pointed to one of the anomalies on the screen.

Arthur was crowding him, and Merlin wasn’t sure it wasn’t deliberate. But he wasn’t going to say anything. He’d just enjoy the moment while he could. Trying to ignore the heat Arthur was generating and the sound of his breathing and the smell of dirt and sweat and Arthur, Merlin said, “All joking aside, with your broad shoulders, it would be a tight squeeze in some places and not possible in others. It really is a miracle the castle hasn’t collapsed.”

Standing up, giving a little hum of frustration, Arthur said, “Have you been?”

“In the siege tunnels, yes, but even I haven’t been through all the caves. I know I’m scrawny, but some places were inaccessible.” It was true enough. Merlin had used magic in the past to see through the blockages, but he couldn’t explore the caves as much as he would have liked. 

“Merlin, you aren’t scrawny.” Arthur’s hand fell on Merlin’s shoulder and he gave Merlin a little shake before letting go.

In the long years, he’d been told often enough about being rail thin. Even his mum had worried about how gaunt he was after Arthur died. Merlin didn’t see the need to bulk up. There was no one to love him after all and his magic was enough to get him out of scuffles.

Looking up, Merlin shrugged. “Not what the mirror says.”

It was endearing the way Arthur scowled about it. He said, deliberate and sure, “Well, the mirror is wrong. You’re fine as you are.”

Merlin didn’t want to admit it, but the way Arthur defended him left Merlin with a warm heart and a kind of joy. But he couldn’t admit it. Instead, he said, “What, no insult? You are losing your touch, Dr Drake.”

“About the insults, well, I’m never going to lose my touch. I’ve only begun to show you the ways of the well-read.” In some ways, Drake seemed to understand Merlin almost as well as his Arthur had. Lifting one eyebrow, staring down at Merlin, Arthur nodded once. “But I’ll always defend my friends. Even from mirrors that lie.” Merlin grinned up at him at that. Then as Arthur just shook his head, smiling back at Merlin, he pointed to the map. “Tell me about the caves. And the tunnels.”

When Lance called, Arthur and Merlin were in the lounge, enjoying a fire in the grate, the weather having turned cold and rain-dreary.

They were still arguing about the caves. Arthur insisted that they needed to be explored. He talked about trying to figure out a way to deal with them on his geophys grids and Merlin didn’t really have a good reason to refuse, especially when Arthur said that he could send in a small inexpensive drone and camera and that there’d be no danger to either of them. Arthur wanted to have video of whatever was inside, arguing about completeness. Merlin suspected it was more to do with Arthur’s stubbornness to know _everything_ although he didn’t say so.

Merlin could certainly understand it from a scientist’s point of view. But he was worried.

If Arthur found the entrance to Sigan’s tomb, hidden within the very caves they were arguing about and Arthur wanted to explore further, Merlin wasn’t sure what kind of excuse he could come up with. Arthur would certainly be suspicious if it wasn’t a good one.

No matter what, though, he couldn’t let Arthur see the treasures Merlin had collected over the centuries. Never mind that an archaeologist would go crazy with the history there. And anyone with the slightest magical ability would certainly recognise them, especially the Cup of Life, his now despite the rather vehement protests of the Druids. Or Merlin’s most prized possession, Arthur’s sword, his beloved Excalibur, still wrapped in one of Arthur’s old cloaks. Freya had not been happy with him, either, when he removed it from the lake.

He didn’t care what the others said. Over the years, it gave him a sense of purpose to keep them safe and hidden from use by those less pure of spirit. To know that Arthur, when he returned, would have everything that he would need, and that they would be Merlin’s to bestow. A gift for his king.

But before Merlin could argue further about the caves or better yet, distract Arthur with nonsense or insults, the phone rang.

Putting Lance on speaker — Arthur probably thought that they were going to talk about the data and that it would be a good thing to include Merlin in the news, but the first thing Lance asked about was whether Merlin was there.

“Of course. He’s been invaluable with my research so far. Say hi, Merlin.”

Lance didn’t even give Merlin a chance to reply. Instead, he said, “Glad to hear it.”

It was obvious that Lancelot wanted to talk to Arthur alone, the worry in his voice a clear indicator that he was uncomfortable with Merlin listening in, but he was polite enough. “I’ve the results back from the glass analysis. There are several different timeframes involved, from modern to around 1000AD plus or minus 100 years. It looks like the older window glass had been replaced several times with local materials. The modern pieces appear to be German. Since a lot of our modern glass comes from the EU, that would make sense. But the oldest piece seems typical of Northumbria, just like Merlin said.”

Arthur seemed excited about the news. “That’s great, Lance. That would place the first window glazing right around the time of Arthurian legend.”

“I thought you’d be happy.” Lance hesitated a moment, then said, “I won’t be back to see you for some time. Gwen is insisting on wedding plans and I can’t get away. However, I’d like to discuss something privately, if you don’t mind.”

Merlin’s worry began to spike. If Lancelot figured out about the magic and Merlin’s part in it, Merlin wasn’t sure what he’d do. Arthur would likely brush it aside, but from what Arthur had told Merlin about Lance, he was persistent and methodical. And likely to protect his friends above all else.

“Of course. Just give me a minute to go upstairs.” Arthur looked over and said, “You don’t mind, do you, Merlin?”

What could Merlin say? That Lancelot was trouble, that this whole scenario had spun out of control and that Merlin would have to use his magic to contain it all before it got worse? That Merlin should never have agreed to let Arthur Drake into his life in the first place?

Instead, trying to keep panic out of his voice, Merlin said, “Take all the time you need. I’ve business matters to attend to anyway.” 

It was a long while before Arthur came back downstairs. And when he did, he was scowling. He didn’t say anything, just poured himself a glass of whiskey, spilling at little as he filled it to the brim, and then downed it in one. When he filled his glass again, staring at it as if it were poison, Merlin said, “Is there anything I can do?”

Arthur took another large gulp, then slamming the glass down, he said, “Lancelot has lost his damn mind. He’s… it doesn’t matter. He’ll come to his senses soon enough.”

Stomping over to the fireplace, gazing down at the flames, a frown turning his face into stone, Arthur didn’t say anything else. He just stood there, silent. Merlin could almost feel the fury rolling off him.

For the longest time, Merlin didn’t say anything. It could be that Lancelot’s call had nothing to do with him, that it might be a family matter or friends or even work-related although Merlin doubted the last. Arthur’s reaction was too personal.

Merlin walked over to Arthur, close enough to touch but still giving him space. “Was it… was it something I did?”

Looking up at that, blinking in confusion, Arthur shook his head. Turning away, both hands gripping the fireplace mantle, his knuckles white, as he went back to staring at the fire, he said, “I can’t believe he did that.”

“What?” Now Merlin was confused. If it didn’t have to do with magic and what Lancelot had seen, he couldn’t really think what else it could be.

“He went to see my sister.” With that, Arthur pushed away from the fireplace, started pacing, waving his hands about. Merlin ducked out of the way, but Arthur didn’t even notice. “Brought up things he should have left alone.”

Arthur stopped, glowering at the flames, then as he stood there, he scrubbed his fingers through his hair, making it look a bird’s nest. Something Merlin’s Arthur used to do whenever he was frustrated or furious, and for a brief instant, Merlin’s throat closed in memory.

“I can’t believe he’d do that. He knows how she is.” Kicking at the fire grate, dislodging one of the logs which thankfully rolled backward and not into the room, Arthur snarled, “He’s… she might… fuck.”

Merlin could never bear to see Arthur in pain. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

For the longest time, Arthur said nothing. He glared down at the flames. His breathing was harsh and his fists almost white, but as he stood there, he must have realised how it looked.

Taking a long deep breath and letting it out slowly, unclenching his hands, Arthur finally turned to Merlin. “If Lance comes here again, could you… not talk about magic?” When Merlin didn’t say anything, too surprised to answer, Arthur said, “I know you don’t really believe in it and you only do it to annoy me but it’s more than that. It’s….”

When Arthur stopped, as he stood there looking thoroughly miserable, Merlin said, “What is it?”

Arthur turned aside, gazing off into the distance. It was almost as if Merlin wasn’t there, that Arthur was talking to himself. “My sister is great most of the time. Well as great as annoying sisters can be. Morgs has her own business, lots of friends, a lover or two although, ugh, I don’t want to know about that. Successful and I’m happy for her. But when she was much younger, she….”

Arthur broke off, marched over to the table, and downed the rest of the whiskey. Then pouring some more, swirling it around in the glass, watching the play of light on the liquor as if it were the most important thing in the world, Arthur said, “She believed she had magical powers. She’d tell me all about dreams and how she could set fire to things with her thoughts.” He took another rough swallow, coughing a little as he did. “I laughed at her about it. After all, magic, come on, it’s just not real.”

Taking the glass out of Arthur’s hands, a bit of a tug-of-war before Arthur finally relented, as Merlin set it aside, and led Arthur back to sit on the sofa, he said, “What happened?”

Giving a little shudder, Arthur leaned forward a little, staring at the flames in the fireplace. “She set fire to the house, almost burned it down. She said it was magic, but we found matches under her bed and… well, my father didn’t take it well.” Merlin didn’t say anything. He could see that Arthur needed to get it off his chest. “Dad’s not the most understanding parent. He made her go to one psychiatrist after another until finally she grew out of it.”

“Kids do that sometimes,” Merlin said.

Shaking his head, Arthur gave a little laugh, sounding brittle and just a bit defeated. “Yeah, well, recently, she joined a coven or whatever you call a bunch of Druids these days. Claimed that she was a witch after all, or at least that’s what she told me. Said that now she was an adult she didn’t have to lie any more. But she hasn’t told father yet.” He slumped back, staring up at the ceiling. “That would be a nightmare and I’d probably be stuck in the middle again, just like before.”

Merlin ignored the alarm bells going off in his head. He’d had enough issues with the Druids over the years to worry. If Lancelot or Arthur’s sister became aware of Merlin’s identity, that could make for a very large problem.

“And Lance?” Merlin said.

“He knew about her issues, but I thought he’d… he never seemed to be interested in being in her social circle and the magic nonsense was just that, nonsense. We’d both agreed about it. And now….” Arthur slowed to a halt, still scowling but more thoughtful, as if trying to puzzle something out.

Merlin needed to know just what to expect. “And now?”

“He saw something when he was here. He’s not telling me, but it spooked him and he’s not usually one to go off on some wild goose chase. But he talked to Morgs and now she wants to visit and see for herself.”

This was sounding worse and worse. If Lancelot had contacted someone with the Druids and they agreed to help Lance or even this Morgs, he could be in deep, deep trouble.

“Morgs? Your sister?” He tried to keep his voice calm, to make it sound like he wanted to be a friend helping another friend. But in reality, all he wanted to do was think about how to turn this around and not have it devolve into an unmitigated mess.

It must have worked. Arthur shrugged, then glanced at Merlin for a moment before nodding. He sounded calmer too as he said, “Yeah, her name’s really Eleanor, but when she was a kid, well, I was into Arthurian legend, even more than I am now, and being young and stupid, I kept insisting that she was my witch sister.”

“I bet she wasn’t thrilled.” Merlin’s anxiety ratcheted up. This was sounding worse and worse.

Arthur gave a little huff of laughter. “That’s what I thought, but she loved the idea. Demanded I call her Morgan Le Fay like the legends.” Merlin stiffened at that, his heart plummeting, but Arthur didn’t seem to notice. “But I wasn’t going to let a girl push me around even though it was my idea. I called her Morgs just to annoy her. She beat me up a couple of times. She’s got quite a temper, but the name stuck.”

Arthur turned solemn again, murmuring half to himself, “That was before… the fire and now I wish… I’d never told her about the legends. Maybe it would have been better if I’d… just kept my mouth shut.”

Reaching out, gripping Arthur’s arm in sympathy, getting a half-hearted look of gratitude in return, Merlin said, “You could call her Eleanor, or even Ellie.”

“Not if I want to keep… my bollocks.”

Arthur gave Merlin a sloppy grin, then looked around for his glass. When he realised it wasn’t within reach, he scowled a little. But he didn’t get up. Merlin wasn’t sure Arthur could. After all, he’d drunk quite a bit and it was likely kicking in.

“It’s not your fault, you know. About the fire and her problems.” Seeing Arthur so vulnerable and unhappy made Merlin unhappy, too. If nothing else, at least one of them should have a good life. And it wouldn’t be Merlin. He’d learned that lesson over the centuries.

Nodding, Arthur reached over and patted Merlin’s leg, then left it there. The warmth of it was like a fire against Merlin’s skin, but he didn’t move away.

“You’re… a good… friend. Glad you are… here.” Arthur sagged against him, closing his eyes. “She’s coming… next week. With six… inch heels.” As he squeezed Merlin’s leg again, he said, “I need a drink.”

So did Merlin.


	12. Chapter 12

Merlin didn’t remember much after that. He woke to an aching head and Arthur half-draped over him. Trapped on the sofa, Merlin couldn’t move, at least not with their legs tangled and Arthur’s arm snugged hard around Merlin’s waist. The arse was snoring a bit into Merlin’s shoulder.

Arthur looked ridiculous, but Merlin couldn’t help feeling tender toward him. Vulnerable and younger somehow, looking very much like his Arthur when Merlin used to wake him up with a cheery ‘lazy daisy’. His hair was mussed the same way, his lips smacking a bit as he snuggled closer to Merlin. The two images of past and present seemed to overlay one another, then merged into a solid and achingly close man.

Wanting to lay there forever, surrounded by an Arthur he could see and touch, Merlin let his dreams play a bit. He knew it couldn’t last, but for now, he could pretend that his Arthur was finally back, that the Arthur of old wanted to be with him and in him and that they’d never be apart again.

Smiling, Merlin reached up and smoothed down Arthur’s wayward hair, let his palm cup a scruffy cheek, feel the warmth of him seep into Merlin’s bones and blood and heart. He listened to Arthur breathing, felt the movement of chest and hips against him, the way Arthur’s knee was pushing Merlin’s legs apart, and didn’t struggle to escape, just sunk deeper into the fantasy.

But with all good things, there was fantasy and then stark reality.

It didn’t take long before Merlin realised that Arthur’s hips were moving, circling and he was grunting a little. His mouth close to Merlin’s neck, hot breath on skin and down below, obvious interest, a hardness matched by Merlin’s own.

He didn’t think Arthur was awake yet, at least not enough to realise what he was doing. And he wouldn’t take advantage of Arthur’s unconscious needs. It wouldn’t be fair to either of them.

Pushing back a little, Merlin was able to shift Arthur enough to crawl out from under him, but their positions were such that Merlin had to clamber over the sofa back and land, with a rather loud thump, on the rug behind.

It was quiet on the sofa side. Merlin must have woken Arthur up, and sure enough, a moment later, Arthur poked his head over and blinked at him. “What are you doing?”

Merlin couldn’t help it. “Checking for woodworms. They are active in the morning.”

“It’s a sofa, Merlin, not an armoire.” Arthur turned a little green, and he lay his forehead against the fabric. “How much did we drink last night?”

Merlin’s head wasn’t all that great, but at least he felt better than Arthur looked. “Me not as much as you. Do you want me to make breakfast? Eggs? Bacon?”

Arthur looked up, bleary-eyed, and then suddenly he rushed off toward the toilet. Merlin followed at a much slower pace, still unsteady and feeling a bit ill himself. But he didn’t push his way in and find out what Arthur was doing. The sounds coming out of the loo made that obvious.

Since Arthur was busy vomiting up his guts, Merlin hobbled over to the upstairs loo, and after pissing away last night’s stupidity, he gulped down Gaius’s old recipe for hangovers. Awful as ever.

Merlin felt a little better after that. Since he still had plenty, he took a vial of the concoction down to Arthur and offered it to him.

Through the closed door, Arthur said, “What’s in it?”

Merlin grunted. “You don’t want to know but it will make you feel better.” 

A moment later, a hand reached out and grabbed the vial, and then there was a pained yelp from Arthur. “I’m not sure the remedy isn’t worse. Good God, that was disgusting.”

Giving a little chuckle, Merlin said, “You okay in there?”

“I didn’t miss the toilet if that’s what you’re asking. But I may have lost a lung somewhere.” The door opened and Arthur looked out. “I’ll clean it up later, but I wouldn’t go in right about now.”

“Arthur, I know what’s what the day after people get ah… inebriated. I’ve done it myself as you well know. So, do you want food?”

Arthur nodded, then said, “Let me take a shower and clean out my very disgusting mouth and I’ll be down in a few.”

Merlin wanted to tell Arthur that his mouth was never disgusting even when it was, but he didn’t think it would come out right, so he just nodded and went into the kitchen.

The bacon was almost done when Arthur shuffled in. He still looked a bit peaky, but his hair was starting to dry, and as he walked past Merlin, he smelled of that soap he loved to use, woodsy and masculine.

As Arthur sat down, head in his hands, Merlin glanced at him, drinking in the view. It was quite a view. Even now, with the rain still beating on the windowpanes, Arthur was like sunshine, golden in the light. The way his body moved, the way he breathed, even the way his fingers curled as he shielded his eyes from the glare of the kitchen lights seemed to call to Merlin.

He could feel himself falling, not in a real sense, but his heart was beating loud, and he felt dizzy with want.

It was impossible, of course. His heart always belonged to Arthur Pendragon and always would. But this Arthur called to him as no one else had done in a millennium. And he wasn’t sure he wanted it to stop.

Not sure how much Arthur remembered of the morning or the previous evening, Merlin said nothing. He just slid the eggs onto Arthur’s plate and then the bacon. The toast came a few moments later, and as they sat there across from one another, it was in silence.

Frowning down at the remnants of his breakfast, Arthur gave a little sigh. “I need to stop drinking. The aftermath is never good.”

“I can get you more of my remedy.” When Arthur shot him a look that should have turned Merlin into ash, Merlin grinned. “Okay, maybe not.”

“That was the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted, and I’ve been in the jungle and eaten huge bugs. Once I…,” Arthur gulped, then shook his head. “Maybe that would best be forgotten.”

“I once fed a friend rat stew. He didn’t know what it was at first. It was pretty hilarious… well, until he figured it out and made me eat it.” It was a good memory, if truth be told. The look on Prince Prat’s face when he realised what he’d been eating was pure gold. It was even worth the price of having to eat it himself.

With this Arthur staring at him, all Merlin could do was shrug. “Protein is protein, right?”

“I guess it is although rat stew might be a step too far.” Arthur gave a little laugh. “Were you friends after that?”

“Always.” Merlin’s smile turned soft. “Always.”

“I suppose I’ll forgive Lance eventually. He’s really one of the most honourable and unselfish men I know. But today, I’m still furious with him.” Arthur got up and started to clean the dishes. From the sink, his hands full of suds, he said, “So apparently my sister is coming for a visit. She’ll be staying at the inn. She’s not here to interrupt the work, at least that’s what Lance said, and she confirmed last night. She’s not here as a tourist, either, just coming to see me. I’ll not ask for her to be given a tour of the site or even discuss our findings so far.” When Merlin didn’t say anything, Arthur turned around. “If that’s alright with you?”

Merlin wanted to howl to the moon not to let her in, not even have someone who knew about magic within a hundred miles of him, but that wasn’t possible. Instead, he said, careful and decided, “As long as she doesn’t enter the castle.”

“I doubt very much she’d be able to get past the briar patch you dragged me through or the cobblestones in the courtyard, never mind the stairs there. Since she left home, I’ve never seen her in anything but ridiculously high heels. How she can walk in those is beyond me.” Arthur rolled his eyes, then turned back and finished washing up.

The internet can be a wonderful and terrible thing. When he first investigated Arthur Drake, there had been few pictures of him, mostly overseeing digs and some uni pictures that didn’t always show him in the best light. Nothing earlier than that, certainly nothing from his childhood. And honestly, Arthur’s father, John Drake, CEO of Pendragon Inc., looked nothing like Uther so that put Merlin at ease.

Merlin had gotten careless over the years, apparently.

Merlin hadn’t thought to look for siblings. He’d been too busy trying not to give in to Arthur’s requests to dig at Camelot to go further. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to know. Maybe fate was fucking with him.

When he pulled up information and images of Eleanor Niniane Iseult Drake, it took his breath away.

It was Morgana, down to the glint in her eyes and that perfect face. True, she’d cut her hair chin-length and had a brilliant line of green colour in her hair to match her eyes. The clothes she wore showed off her figure more than the old Morgana’s ever did, and that was saying quite a bit. But it was her.

It took a while to slow his racing heart, to talk himself down from doing something stupid. Even a thousand years later, killing her wasn’t in the cards. Looking like Morgana wasn’t enough to murder a perfect stranger and one whom Arthur loved.

But he made preparations anyway. The shields against harm were strengthened all around the house and vital parts of the castle, too. He surrounded the entrance to Sigan’s tomb with the strongest magic he knew, to the point where even he was hard-pressed to get inside. He hoped it would be enough.


	13. Chapter 13

When she arrived, Eleanor Drake wore hiking boots. And a safari jacket that must have cost what most people would earn in a month, Indiana Jones style but with a high-end fashion flair. But that’s not what Merlin noticed first.

He was even more certain that it was truly Morgana. Green eyes flashing and her heart-shaped face, the way she tossed her hair, and laughed at something Arthur was saying, her pouts and smiles, her sharp look toward Merlin before turning back to Arthur. It was as if he was reliving old Camelot all over again.

Merlin was horrified. As she walked toward him, a polite smile on her face and her hand ready to shake his, Merlin had to tamp down the instinct to destroy her right then and there, with lightning or a sword thrust or poison, whatever it took. 

But Arthur was standing there, looking worried as if he knew something was up, and Merlin couldn’t accuse her of being a monster and killer of kings when she’d done nothing wrong in this lifetime. At least, not yet.

He refused to touch her, though, refused the outstretched hand. He put on a fake smile, and nodded, then turned away and marched, scurried, almost ran back into the house.

She was left standing there, Arthur apologizing in his wake.

When Merlin reached the lounge, he was already turning to retreat into his bedroom to try to figure out what the hell was going on, but Arthur caught up with him.

“What the fuck was that? You couldn’t have been more rude.”

Arthur looked furious, but Merlin wasn’t paying attention. He was glancing past him to see that Morgana had followed Arthur inside. He knew he was acting like a crazed maniac. But Morgana had always been strong and devious, too. Merlin couldn’t risk it.

“Arthur, I’m… not feeling well.”

It was a lie, but Merlin had lied so many times before that it sounded like he really was unwell. Arthur’s fury melted away. “Is there anything I can do to help?” When Merlin shook his head, Arthur said, “Go lay down. I’ll see to Morgs and bring you some tea in a minute, alright?”

All he could do was nod and stumble upstairs, trying to fight off the terror and fury beating at his breast.

A few minutes later, Arthur arrived, putting the tea–just as Merlin liked it–down on the night table beside him.

“Morgs was so looking forward to seeing you, Merlin. She couldn’t stop talking about you, asking so many questions that I was laughing at her by the time we got here.” Arthur patted Merlin’s hand, looking thoroughly concerned. “I hope you’ll be feeling better by the time she has to leave. She’ll be very disappointed.”

The last thing Merlin wanted to do was make nice with a murderess. But he had to face the truth, that Eleanor may look like his arch enemy and one he blamed for a thousand years of despair, but she hadn’t tried anything, and she might not even have magical abilities. She might be as Arthur was, someone who had hit the unfortunate DNA jackpot and nothing more than that. 

Still, he gave Arthur a wan smile. “I’ll try, but you know how these things go, one minute fine, the next not so much.” He took a sip of the tea, then said, “I’ll be back downstairs when I’ve rested a bit.”

When Merlin had gathered himself enough to deal with the potential of a magical showdown, that he might have to kill Arthur’s sister in front of him and soon, he went downstairs and into the garden. Arthur and Eleanor–Morgana–were sitting there, sipping tea and laughing about something or other. As he turned the corner, she touched Arthur’s shoulder who turned around and then stood. She sent Merlin a tentative smile but didn’t offer her hand this time.

Merlin gestured for Arthur to sit, then he did, too, and poured himself a cup.

Eleanor seemed relieved as she said, “Mr Emrys, I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard such good things from Artie.”

“Arthur sees the good in everyone.” As Arthur started to protest, Merlin said, “It’s true, Arthur. Don’t bother denying it.” 

“You are both ridiculous.” Arthur rolled his eyes, then looked away, his cheeks pinking a little in embarrassment.

“Yeah, it’s his best and worst failing.” She patted Arthur’s arm, then smirked, scrunching her nose at him as he glared back at her. “He’s always accepting people at face value.”

It was his Arthur’s failing, too. It killed him in the end. Merlin hoped that the Arthur of here and now, even if he wasn’t Merlin’s king returned, would have a kinder life than Arthur Pendragon’s.

Sipping on the tea, letting the silence last a moment, finally Merlin said, “Will you be here long?”

“Just overnight. I’ve a photoshoot tomorrow with my models. We’re launching a new line of cosmetics based on herbs associated with magic in the days of old. ‘It’s magic’ will be our tag line.” She gave Merlin a brilliant smile.

But Arthur wasn’t happy. Setting the teacup down with a clunk, he snapped, “Morgs, you said you wouldn’t.”

Scowling at Arthur, she sounded exasperated. “And I’m not. I’m taking about gardens and what grows there. Hence the boots.” She lifted one of her boots, wiggled it a little, then crossed her legs before turning to Merlin. Gesturing around at the garden just over the low stone wall, in a softer, gentler voice, she said, “Artie told me that your garden is full of interesting, old plants, many with properties using in ancient remedies. I’d love to see it.”

“It’s just a garden.” Merlin shrugged.

It was more than that, of course. He’d a plethora of magical plants, rare ones known to only a few, older versions that no longer grew in most of Britain, and some that were both beautiful and deadly. An herbalist of ancient potions might – might – recognise them, but most would just think them ordinary or weeds to be chucked away.

She leaned forward, her hands well within reach of Merlin’s own, but as Merlin flinched back, she hesitated, then nodded toward the garden as if she hadn’t noticed anything wrong. “From the walkway, it looks extraordinary. I wish we could shoot here. The models would look fabulous against a backdrop of plants and ruins in the distance.”

“Morgs, this isn’t what we agreed on.” Arthur scowled at her.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” she said, rolling her eyes hard enough that Merlin thought she’d get eye strain.

Merlin glanced at Arthur, but Arthur gave out a long, put-upon sigh and took another long gulp of tea. It did look like Arthur was annoyed that it wasn’t something stronger.

“Ignore her, Merlin. She’s being nonsensical as usual.”

To fill the silence and maybe find out just why she really was there, Merlin said, “Does Pendragon Inc., fund your business, Ms Drake?”

Another scrunch of her nose as she glared at Arthur, then she turned to Merlin. “Morgs, please. Everyone calls me that. And initially, yes. Dad was a bear about it, but as Artie knows, I’ve quite a talent for persuading people. But I paid Dad back ages ago, with interest.” She leaned back, watching Arthur as she said, “I wouldn’t have dared started a line having anything associated with magic if I was still under his thumb. He’s quite… dismissive of the idea.”

Slamming down the teacup so hard Merlin was worried it would break, Arthur said, “As are most intelligent people, Morgs. For fuck’s sake, don’t sugar-coat it. You know how I feel about the whole damn thing. No need to involve Merlin in our family issues.“

Arthur got up and began to pace a little, then leaned against the stone wall, his arms crossed, his frown sharp enough to cut glass. 

When it was clear Eleanor wouldn’t back down and Arthur could be as stubborn, Merlin said, “Families disagree all the time. My mum used to… well, she had my best interests at heart, and I loved her for it, but it did make for problems. Sometimes you don’t really get over some things. You just bury them deep and try and forget the bad and remember the good.”

“Do you see her often, Merlin?” Arthur asked.

Merlin shook his head. Remembering Hunith’s sweet face and how very much he still missed her, he said, “She died a long time ago. I was an only child so no sisters to annoy, either.”

Pushing off the wall, Arthur gave Merlin’s arm a little squeeze of sympathy as he sat down. “Morgs used to beat me over the head with our play swords and threaten to skewer me with them.” Arthur gave Eleanor another glare, then smiled at Merlin. “That’s how I learned sword-fighting, to make sure next time I’d beat her fair and square.”

Eleanor reached over and gave Arthur a half-hearted shove. “King Arthur here lorded over everyone when he was a silly little boy. Swordfights and rescuing fair maidens although I did my own rescuing, thank you very much. He was quite a terror about it, and a bit of a prat, too. Luckily, he grew up. Not quite the tyrant now.”

“I was just a kid, Morgs. Or should I call you Eleanor these days?” Arthur asked.

Her green eyes narrowed. “Not if you want to keep your bollocks, Your Supreme and Annoying Majesty.”

Arthur waved his hand in her direction. “See, told you, Merlin. She’s still a bully.”

“Yes, I can see that.” It would have been fun to watch the siblings fight, but Merlin wasn’t sure that wouldn’t bring its own problems. He said, “So Pendragon isn’t your family name, then.”

“Well, actually, back in the day, it was.” Arthur turned to Merlin, waving his hands about as he got more excited about his family history. “But somewhere in the mid1100s, right after William the Conqueror, the family changed it. I think Pendragon was a little too old-fashioned and _English_ for the family fortune, so they chose De Rous-Dracon to be able to suck up to the French court. But when Sir Frances Drake was all the rage and French not so much years later, well, political expedience and all that. They took the older name and talked themselves into thinking it was close enough to Drake. And it’s been that way ever since.”

Eleanor chimed in. “I use Morgan Le Fay as my tradename, though. After all, the stories don’t name Morgana as a Pendragon. Just the bloodlines and incest and _magic_.” When she said magic, her fingers spread wide, and she wiggled them a little in a parody of spell casting. In another life, they’d be called jazz hands. In another life, Merlin would have laughed at her for it.

Arthur wasn’t laughing. “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Morgs, stop. You agreed not to discuss magic and now you’re….”

“Arthur Ambrosius Gareth Tristan Drake, I’m just talking about legends, not magic, not Lancelot, not anything but my company and where I got its name. Stop being so annoying. You’re not my kid brother anymore. Be an adult.”

When neither of them backed down, just glared as if sending daggers through the air, Merlin wondered if it was always like that in the Drake household. He’d often wished for a sibling, but maybe he was better off alone after all.

Trying to lighten the mood, Merlin said, “Wow, that’s a lot of names there, Arthur. I thought your father didn’t like Arthurian legends.”

“Mom loved them, and he loved her. Even Eleanor’s middle names, Niniane Iseult, are from the legends. Only reason her first name isn’t was that Dad’s mum was named Eleanor and he insisted.”

Merlin nodded. It sounded that if Arthur’s mum had lived, a lot of things might have been different. “And yet you and Lance both told me your dad doesn’t want to talk about the legends anymore.”

Arthur looked down at his empty teacup for a moment. “Mum died when I was a baby. Dad won’t talk about it except to rail about magic and herbs and death so it’s a bit of a touchy subject. Only reason Morgs gets away with it is that she’s got him wrapped around her little finger. If I brought it up – which I will not, he’d shout and throw me out of the house.” Eleanor gave Arthur a little sympathetic pat on his arm, then sat back. Arthur nodded to her, their fight now seemingly over. “We’ve had a few knock-down drag-outs, but now I just avoid the subject. It’s all stuff and nonsense anyway.”

Eleanor nodded toward the wall and the greenery beyond. “Merlin, I’d love to see your garden now that the sun’s come out.” When Merlin seemed to hesitate, Eleanor said, “Please, I’m sure you’ve a lot to tell me about plants and their medicinal properties.”

He couldn’t see any reason to say no. Standing up, he gestured for them to follow. “If you insist. And if Arthur can keep his big feet out of my herb beds.”

Eleanor laughed, then raised one eyebrow as she smirked at Arthur. “Well, you know what they say about big feet.”

Arthur turned red, covering his eyes with one hand. “Morgs, what the… that’s not, you are ridiculous.” Then he turned to Merlin and said, flat and decided, “I don’t have big feet.”

“Could have fooled me,” Merlin said, grinning, enjoying Arthur’s discomfort for once. He was quite adorable in a rough and tumble kind of way.

At that, Arthur choked, then muttering, “I hate you both.” Then he stalked away, going toward the garden gate. “We should visit the garden before I die of embarrassment.”

Eleanor snickered. “Too late.”

The rest of the day went well. Eleanor didn’t ask about magic or mention Lancelot. She did trade snipes and insults with her brother, but it felt warm, not trying to draw blood but rather a reminder of them growing up together. Arthur looked relaxed and often sent her a fond smile.

She was surprisingly knowledgeable about plants, too, especially those with associated magical properties. It was clear she did know Druidic lore and had had some training in herbal potion making.

Surprisingly, she also wasn’t afraid to get her boots dirty or keep that fashion-chic outfit of hers pristine. 

Merlin started to relax. After all, it seemed perfectly normal, and there were times when he forgot that she looked like Morgana. Yes, the face was the same, but there was a gentleness to it. Their interactions reminded Merlin more of the first year he’d known Morgana, when she was sweet and prone to helping others rather than seeking to destroy them.

So, when they had dinner together at the inn and she said good night to them both, much of Merlin’s worries evaporated.


	14. Chapter 14

Something woke Merlin in the middle of the night. The sound of a hooting owl, the wind blowing through the leaves and branches scratching against his window, should have been enough to send him back to sleep. Just everyday noises, nothing to worry about. 

But there were the shadows crawling across his bed as clouds skidded past a full moon. The owl, nearby, was insistent, a flash of white wings past his window, and then a screech, the death cry of something as the bird flew away.

Merlin gave a shudder.

Looking out of his window, the ruins seemed almost alive, the stones black and then white, the towers jagged and stark as moonlight poured over them, then disappeared into the clouded darkness. In the distance, Merlin thought he could see something moving in one of the rooms, almost as if the window there were torch-lit, although it could be a trick of the light.

But he doubted it. Magic was stirring. He could feel it.

Throwing on clothes enough to keep out the night chill, he flew down the stairs and out toward the castle. The wards he’d set were jangling against his chest, groaning of break-ins and movement, not of mere curiosity seekers but deliberate and sure threats.

He went faster, racing over the planks and up the stairs.

It did surprise him to find Eleanor in Arthur’s old room, though. He would have thought Morgana’s quarters would have been more appropriate.

Standing by the window, her torch sending out hard light, she was dressed in softer things, trousers and blouse, an emerald-coloured jumper crafted in old symbols, the triskelion clear in the weave. If he hadn’t known better, he’d think she had come straight from a magazine shoot. She was beautiful enough, but then Morgana’s beauty had beguiled, too.

As he rushed into the room, she said, “Hello, Merlin. Or should I say, Emrys.”

He wanted to send magic, pointed and deadly, straight into her heart, but she hadn’t threatened him yet and Merlin had learned over the long years to listen first and misdirect if possible. It had gotten him out of more than a few scraps since Camelot. And Arthur would mourn if he killed her.

Pretending to be an irate owner of a ruined castle, Merlin said, “What are you doing here? I thought I made it clear that the castle was off-limits.”

“Do you think Arthur realises what this place is? That these were the rooms of the Once and Future King?” She nodded down toward the coarsely-etched ARTUR and crown dug into the stone and smiled.

Fear made Merlin’s voice rough. “Don’t be absurd. Camelot is a myth. This is just an old castle.” He stepped closer, waving his hands around, still trying to pretend that he was an innocent in all of it. “What the hell are you doing here, Eleanor? It’s falling apart. You could have fallen down into the fissures in the courtyard or slipped on the stairs.”

“Let’s stop posturing, Emrys. There is magic here, strong and fierce. I can feel it. A thousand years of power soaking into the very fabric of this place. And concentrated such as the world has never seen. Dangerously so.” She was watching him, staring at him as if trying to delve into his very soul. “Magic, out of balance, out of control. As are you.”

He was almost shouting when he said, “You’re insane. There is no such thing as magic.”

“Oh, Emrys, please. Don’t lie to me. We both know who you are.”

With that, Merlin gave up. “What do you want, Eleanor? Or should I say, Morgana?”

“Touché.” Bowing a little, she nodded, satisfied, her smile sharp and triumphant. “I’ve magic of my own, but I’m not her, though, well not exactly. I’ve had bits and pieces of dreams of someone who loved and hated all those around her before she descended into madness, her magic twisting into something vile. But that is not me.” When Merlin scowled, disbelieving her every word, she said, “I don’t hate you, Emrys. I feel sorry for you.”

“Fine, pity me. I’ve pitied myself enough over the years.” Merlin waved away her so-called sorrow for him. It meant nothing. It was a distraction. “What do you want?”

She leaned back against the window-sill, the same place Arthur used to lean against whenever he was troubled. Merlin wanted to wipe it clean of her presence. But with her staring at him, a frown cutting into that perfect skin, he could only stand there and listen to whatever plot she had going on. He’d figure out what to do later.

“Lancelot is worried. He saw what you did, and he couldn’t deal with it.” Merlin was taken aback. That’s not what he expected. She nodded at his confusion. “He’s a bit of a mystic, but not enough to accept that magic might be the answer. You’ve seen to that.”

“I have no idea what you mean.” Merlin scowled at her. He hadn’t wiped Lance’s mind or done anything but plant seeds of doubt to protect Arthur’s legacy. Surely, she must understand that.

She shook her head, narrowing her eyes as if she didn’t believe him. “Of course, you know. You simply choose to close your eyes to it.”

When he gave a little disbelieving grunt, she said, “Arthur is blind, as he’s always been, towards magic and the world beyond his own senses. But you are not. You are like a dazzling light that looms over everything, sucking in all the magic around you and leaving only emptiness behind while your power grows and grows.”

“What do you _want_?” He was growing tired of her accusations.

She pushed away from the window, walked toward Merlin, her face half in shadow, her eyes gold-rimmed. He took a step back, and she stopped, determination settling in as she stared at him.

“The Druids have sent me to reason with you one last time. They’ve tried everything else, but you are so focused on Arthur’s return that you can’t see beyond your small world. You’ve taken things that should have been out in the world, hoarding them like a dragon with his treasure, using the excuse that you are best able to protect them with your magic and shielding them from everyone else. If you do not release them and allow magic to return to the world, soon it will be too late. It is concentrated here, in you, a sick cancerous growth, sucking all of magic in and killing off the host. Magic is dying and it is your fault.”

She was lying. She had to be.

“And you think I’d believe you over the Druid leaders?” he snarled.

“They have asked you time and again, and out of desperation, they asked me to intervene. I’m the last of them. They’ve reached their limit. If you don’t release your hold on the magic concentrated in this place, they will rise up and then we shall see who is the strongest. You or the Elders.”

Merlin knew that magical objects were often the catalyst for people discovering their power, but there had been beings of magic since the dawn of time, catalyst or not. She had to be lying, she had to.

“I’m not holding magic back. Anyone can use it if they have the gift. How dare you accuse me of hurting magic after all I’ve done.” He drew himself up, shouting at her. “The Elders cannot protect the relics. They don’t have the power or the resources. They would let them go out into the world and anyone, _anyone_ could steal them and use them for dark magic. Like Morgana did.”

He turned aside, looked out into the darkness beyond the window. In his mind’s eye, he could see his house and Arthur Drake sleeping there, defenceless and exposed to attack. He shuddered. More softly, he said, “When Arthur, when my king comes back, he’ll have nothing, he’ll be unprotected, vulnerable. I won’t be able to….”

Morgana stepped in front of him, blocking his view, bringing him back to the here and now.

“Your fear has blinded you. It did then, all those years ago, and what was the end result? Your choices, your ignorance, your inability to see that protecting Arthur meant protecting those of magic first and that his survival would follow. And when you abandoned your people, Arthur fell. Because of your wilful determination to save him above all else.”

Refusing to listen to any more nonsense, he said, “You’re wrong.”

Turning toward the door, he started to walk away, but she grabbed his arm and held on, her nails digging into his skin. “Am I? Or are you lying to yourself even now?”

Tearing himself away from her grip, a line of blood and pain blossoming along his wrist, he snarled, “I’ll do what I see fit. And I certainly wouldn’t give anything of magic to you. You would destroy everything. You would use them to rule the world with magic and leave those who are helpless against your powers to become nothing and less than nothing.”

She snapped back, “As you have done?”

Covering the cut with his other hand, he scowled at her. “I haven’t done anything like that. I’ve helped countless beings.”

“Five centuries ago, ten?” Giving a little laugh, sharp and brittle, she said, “When you realised Arthur wasn’t coming back any time soon, you retreated to your little corner, watching the Camelot you loved fall into ruin, when all around you, people are crying out for help, magical help. And you ignored them, instead, stealing whatever magical relics you could find and hoarding them. _For Arthur_. Knowing that those same relics might spark magic innate in those with potential. Centuries where fewer and fewer came into their power until there was a pitiful handful left. Until no one believed in magic anymore. Like my brother.” She went to reach for him again, but he jerked away from her. “What happened to you? Emrys should have been creating an Albion that was fair and just for all its citizens, magical and non-magical alike. What happened, Merlin?”

“I grew up.”

And he had, through all the pain and agonizing silence after Arthur died. He’d learned hard lessons and lost the last remnants of that happy boy who entered the gates of Camelot for the first time so very long ago. 

Voice softening, she said, “No, you gave up… because you couldn’t bear the loneliness. But you didn’t have to deal with it alone, you could have reached out.”

Merlin shook his head. “I do reach out. My businesses employ a lot of people and my charities, too.”

“But nothing of yourself, nothing of your magic.”

She was looking at him with pity again. He hated it, that look. He didn’t want pity, only to be left alone until Arthur Pendragon returned.

“My magic is for Arthur and only for him,” Merlin said, sharp and decided. He didn’t want to hear any more.

She drew back. “In your stubbornness, you will doom him. And your destiny. And us, too.” She bowed her head a moment, then walked over to the window to pick up her torch, and as she passed him on the way out the door, she said, “But so be it. The Elders will deal with you.”

Merlin couldn’t let her go just yet. He needed answers. “Wait, Morgana, I… Eleanor,” he said, desperate to know. “Is your brother Arthur Pendragon? Is he here, now?”

“Can’t you tell?” She blinked in surprise, then looked at him with contempt. “Perhaps you aren’t as powerful as you think you are. Or as wise.”

Exasperated, Merlin said, “Just tell me.”

“It is not my story to tell.” She shook her head. “Enjoy your blindness while you can. You condemn us all.”

Then she swept out into the hallway and down the stairs, leaving Merlin in darkness.

Outside, the owl hooted, lonely and sad, and then there was silence.

When they saw Eleanor off the next morning, it was as if the night had never happened. Her smile was bright, and she annoyed Arthur in a way only a sister could.

As she stepped onto the train, she nodded to Merlin, then said, “Thank you for the lovely visit. And treat my brother well. He deserves the best.”

Arthur was rolling his eyes, but he gave Eleanor a kiss on the cheek and closed the door behind her as she moved deeper into the carriage.

But as the train moved out, Merlin saw her watching him, her eyes rimmed in gold, and he shivered a little. It hadn’t been a dream after all.

When they returned to Merlin’s house, Arthur muttered something about working on his geophys data and Merlin nodded, half-listening. He had bigger things to think about.

But he waited until Arthur disappeared into the barn before he wound his way down to Sigan’s tomb.

It was a misnomer. It hadn’t been a tomb in many decades. Merlin had levelled the floor and trued up the walls, added concrete and shelving, created inert gas boxes to preserve fabrics and feathers, had lighting and computers to keep track of all he’d accumulated.

Of course, he’d buried Sigan and that hideous jewel so that no one would ever release him again. He wasn’t about to have a rematch with that monster, but there were ornate jewellery and carved idols, knives used in willing sacrifice and crowns made with sacred flowers. And crystals from caves that could show the past, present, and sometimes the future. All of them imbued with magic, all of them revered in the magical world.

Each of them glowed with intensity as Merlin walked past, magic calling to magic. Power swirling in the crypt, a potent and joyful mix of warmth and beauty.

Merlin felt lighter for it. With a sweep of his fingers, blue butterflies flitted through the space, alighting on stela and Celtic crosses and magical weapons he’d collected over the centuries, then disappearing with bursts of golden light.

As he walked deeper into the vault, the things he loved the most, the ones that were important to him personally were displayed there: the Cup of Life, the Crystal of Neahtid, and most of all, Excalibur shining in silver and gold and magic, waiting for Arthur’s return.

Stopping there, looking at the sword, remembering the last time Arthur had wielded it, Merlin let out a long unhappy sigh. He’d thrown it into the Lake of Avalon after Arthur died and it took years before Freya would give it up again. Even now, if he went to the lake, she’d ask about the sword, and look sad when Merlin shook his head. He didn’t visit her much anymore. Too many soft words about he should be spreading magic throughout Albion and the wider world and not hoarding it like a miser. Too few answers about when Arthur was returning. Their last argument had cut deep, but even then, he knew she wouldn’t be alone. The Sidhe still lived there and countless good souls. She would not miss him.

Carefully, he took the sword into his hand, then swung it around. The sound of it singing in the air, the weight of it perfect, and yet he knew it wasn’t for him. Only Arthur could truly use it.

When he came back.

If he came back.

With that, Merlin hung it up, carefully, reverently, and wiping tears away, walked at first, then ran out of the cave, and back to his room and slammed the door.

He missed Arthur so very much.


	15. Chapter 15

When he finally came down, Arthur was cooking dinner. Nothing much, just spaghetti and a sauce out of a jar but Merlin appreciated the effort. Merlin didn’t say much. He picked at the food, and let Arthur do most of the talking.

It washed over him, dates and what the geophys data was showing and how tomorrow Arthur hoped to do more in the dungeons since it was going to rain.

Finally, when Merlin didn’t respond, Arthur said, “You still not feeling well? You know, I know just the trick.”

Merlin gave him a wan smile. “Arthur, you don’t have to do anything. I’m just a bit off is all.”

“Well, Morgs left me a movie to watch. I used to love it as a kid, she’d have to sneak it in because my dad would have had a fit if he knew, but it certainly made me want to go out and slay dragons and fight with swords and maybe have a wizard as a side-kick. I thought we could watch it… together. It’s always better that way.”

Merlin didn’t have the heart to tell him no. So, he just nodded. And that’s how they ended up in the lounge, watching ‘The Sword in the Stone’.

It was ridiculous, of course. Arthur as a young boy and cartoon Merlin with that stupid beard which he remembered all too well. It was annoying, always getting in the way, food falling into it, birds trying to nest there, tripping over it. At least, the boy in the film didn’t have to deal with a crazy sister and he was rather a sweet kid. Merlin had to wonder if his Arthur was ever that naïve at twelve. Probably not with Uther as a father.

It was good to see Arthur laughing, too. He seemed to really get into it, following the motions of the kid, using an umbrella as a sword, making fish faces when cartoon Arthur transformed, commiserating when the girl squirrel didn’t get the boy squirrel after all, falling back on the sofa and jostling Merlin into smiling. It didn’t hurt that Arthur was incredibly close, shoulders and thighs touching, whenever he plopped back down onto the sofa. 

When the credits began to roll, Arthur said, “There’s not much evidence for Myrddin Emrys in the legends, even less than King Arthur. He seems such a mysterious character. What do you think about him, oh Merlin of the Emrys?”

The question started alarm bells off in Merlin’s mind, but he didn’t reply for a moment, thinking of what to say. Finally, he shrugged, trying to look thoroughly disinterested.

“Maybe he’s mysterious because there’s not much there. A bit of magic, a shadowy figure. King Arthur is much more interesting with knights and round tables and intrigue. Sword fights and derring-do. Who wants to hear about some old guy when you’ve got all that kingly stuff and Archimedes the owl, too?”

Arthur gave a little chuckle. “Archimedes would certainly have been a plus. What kid doesn’t want a magic talking owl?”

When Merlin raised one eyebrow, looking as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, Arthur grabbed him and began to rub his knuckles into Merlin’s hair. “Come on, admit it, you wanted an owl, too.” Then when Merlin squawked about it, he let him go with a smile. “All right, all right. Guess I’m the only one.”

“Well, not the only one.” Merlin had had an owl to keep him company around the 1500s, but he wasn’t about to tell Arthur that.

But it made Arthur’s grin brighter and Merlin counted that as a win.

Arthur bumped against Merlin’s shoulder again. “I’d not come across much of Merlin or Myrddin Ambrosius or Emrys in my research, that’s for sure. A few hints here and there. But Morgs told me a story that’s quite a bit different, says that the Druids are insistent that the book and TV legends are wrong about Merlin and Arthur.”

Merlin stiffened, the alarm bells louder now. Just how much damage control was Merlin going to have to do? Joking it all away, or would it be worse? Was Morgana trying to sabotage Merlin and using her brother to do it? It seemed likely, especially considering what she’d told him last night. But again, he decided to wait it out. Whatever Arthur was going to say, he might be able to salvage it with misdirection. 

Trying to keep his voice calm, to give Arthur no reason to wonder why Merlin was so upset, Merlin said, “When did she tell you this?”

“Yesterday, when she was here, and you weren’t feeling well. She was very excited about it and I didn’t have the heart to tell her to fuck off.” He snickered a bit. “Although… I must admit I do love to tell her to fuck off at times. She was such an annoying brat growing up.”

“Well, it’s all ridiculous.” Merlin swept his hands across his knees, as if brushing such nonsense away.

“I haven’t told you what it is yet,” Arthur said.

“It’s from the Druids, an organization known for mysticism and sorcery. There’s a long intriguing history, but the more recent groups are a little… romantic.” Merlin gave a long-suffering sigh, trying to make it sound as if he’d heard stupid things before and was growing weary of it. “I’d take anything they’d say with a very large grain of salt.”

“Do you want to know or not?” It was clear that Arthur wanted to tell Merlin, so Merlin nodded, grimacing a little as he did.

But that was enough for Arthur. He launched into it with almost as much vigour as he’d done the film. “Well, instead of Merlin being some old guy, he’s Arthur’s age and ended up being his helper, soothsayer, servant, she wasn’t very clear about that. When Arthur was older and still a prince, not like in the film but in his late teens, maybe early twenties. And magic was forbidden on pain of death – which makes sense since the Romans weren’t happy about the Druidic rituals and spread a lot of lies about them. Merlin had to hide who he was from everyone, including Arthur, while protecting the prince with his powerful magic.”

Heart stopping a moment, Merlin didn’t know what to do. Finally, he said, “Sounds like bad fanfiction. Are they lovers in this storyline? Or maybe in a threesome with Guinevere or maybe Lancelot?”

“I wasn’t going to ask my sister that, you arse.” Arthur shoved at Merlin again, snickering as he did. “That’s where your mind went? Threesomes?”

“I have an enquiring mind.” Merlin raised his eyebrows, then waggled them, a parody of old silent films with dastardly villains and fair maidens about to be ravished.

“You look ridiculous.” Arthur shook his head for a moment, as if he couldn’t believe Merlin had done that.

When Merlin beamed at him, looking gormless and fake innocent, Arthur hmphed, then settled back into his story. “Anyway, the thing is that she mentioned that Emrys means immortal, and that their legend has it that Merlin is still around waiting for Arthur to return. Which is incredibly sad if you think about it.” He stopped a moment, his eyes troubled. “Did you realise your last name means immortal?”

Merlin nodded. “Yes, although my family has proven to be decidedly not immortal.”

“Well, it’s ridiculous, of course, but I found her story intriguing and a little weird. But don’t tell Morgs that. I’ll never hear the end of it. Hell, she might drag me to some Druid ceremony.” Arthur grimaced as if that was a fate worse than death.

“I’m sure she’ll be quite busy with her new product line.” Merlin’s smile turned sultry, and he lowered his voice as he whispered, “Although I’ve heard that there are orgies at Druid festivals.”

Arthur let out a sharp bark of outrage, then laughed. “Merlin! That’s my sister you are talking about.”

Merlin grinned. “Well, they’ve got that fertility ritual at Beltane.”

“Beltane was months ago.” Arthur pointed out. 

“Summer solstice then or maybe that summer harvest one, Lughnasadh I think it’s called. Wild parties, dancing naked all night and then shagging their brains out as the sun rises. You know, reaping what you’ve sowed.” Merlin’s eyes turned wide, and he sent Arthur another innocent look. It was fooling no one.

“You are ridiculous.” Arthur shoved Merlin sideways, into the sofa arm, then shook his head.

Merlin was grinning as he sat up. “What? You don’t want to be dancing naked under the stars?”

“If I’m going to be dancing naked, it’s indoors with a warm and comfortable bed waiting at the end of it.” Arthur looked like he couldn’t believe he was saying it, almost as if the last part had just come out of his mouth without any filter. “Umm….”

Ignoring Arthur’s reddening face, Merlin said, “So no standing around while the sun rises over the Heel Stone at Stonehenge?”

“I did that once. It was distinctly uncomfortable.”

Merlin had been there each time for a hundred sunrises or more. He’d hoped that his Arthur would return as the sun rose over the stones, but he never did. He gave up when it became a media circus, and it was clear that his Arthur wasn’t coming.

Pushing the melancholy aside, Merlin said, “But what about the ritual sacrifices? Lighting the sacred fire or finding your soulmate amongst the cheering throngs?”

“That’s not what the Druids….” Arthur’s face made Merlin laugh, the disbelief, the way Arthur’s mouth was almost turning upward in a smile and yet horrified at the same time. “ _What_ have you been reading?”

“The internet can be a scary place,” Merlin pointed out.

“Tell me about it.” Arthur nodded, a knowing look sent Merlin’s way.

Merlin loved pushing Arthur’s buttons, though. In a high-pitched, very maidenly-aunt voice, Merlin said, “Well, when a boy meets a girl and they love each other _very_ much….”

“For fuck’s sake, just stop, you lunatic.” He pushed Merlin back down onto the sofa, then looming over him, his hand busy with messing up Merlin’s hair again, he said, “Besides it’s sometimes that a boy meets another boy and….”

Merlin didn’t want him to stop, didn’t want to sit up again and pretend that it was all in fun. But he couldn’t push, either. Instead, playful, he said, “And they dance naked under the stars?”

Arthur’s hand slowed, then brushed Merlin’s hair back into place. Merlin wasn’t sure that Arthur realised what he was doing when he said, “Not if there’s a warm bed nearby.”

For a breathless moment, they seemed caught there, bodies touching, Arthur’s hand warm against Merlin’s hair, his thumb scraping the top of Merlin’s forehead, then starting to follow the hairline down to almost cup Merlin’s cheek. Merlin could feel, too, the way Arthur’s chest was moving, the quickening of breath, see the way Arthur’s face was flushing, his blue eyes staring into Merlin’s own.

But then Arthur blinked, pulling away, straightening his shirt. He didn’t say anything. He just looked confused and frustrated.

Finally, Arthur looked down, first at his hands and then at Merlin’s arm. It was bleeding a little. Clearing his throat, Arthur said, “I didn’t do that, did I?”

Merlin hadn’t even noticed the spots of red on his arm. “No, not you. Your sister scratched me, yesterday. It’s nothing to worry about.”

Arthur seemed relieved to be talking about something other than what had just happened. “Those claws of hers. When did she do that?”

Merlin wasn’t about to tell him it was when Eleanor had threatened him. Instead he said, “Don’t remember. But I’ll take care of it, no need for you to….”

“Let me, Merlin. It’s the least I can do. It’s your first battle wound.” He tugged Merlin into the kitchen, grabbed towels, and began to clean the cut. It really was just a scratch, but it felt wonderful, how careful he was. It reminded him so much of his Arthur that he couldn’t breathe for a moment.

As he worked, Arthur said, “The funny thing about that story is I must have heard it somewhere before. Occasionally, I have strange dreams of Merlin and Arthur, taking the piss out of each other. I even remember once, Merlin, who looks remarkably like you by the way, asking Prince Arthur how long he’d been training to be a prat and then Merlin made a cheeky bow, grinning and saying ‘my lord’ although, if truth be told, it sounded more like ‘eat shit and die’. Weird thing to dream about.”

Merlin was shocked. It was exactly how it had happened so very long ago. How Arthur knew about it only brought more questions, but Merlin didn’t know how to ask them. That would have brought its own problems.

Arthur didn’t notice how disturbed Merlin was, and as he finished up and put a bandage on the cut, Arthur said, “I have to laugh now that I’ve met you. I can really see you saying that to me.”

“Was that recent, the dream?” Merlin tried to keep from demanding to know everything, but it was hard.

As he put the towel away, Arthur turned back and leaned against the counter. “No, it was a few years back, but it really struck me. I’ve never forgotten it.” He shook his head, looking a bit sheepish. “But let’s not delve into my bizarre thought processes. It’s not something I’d go boasting about to my colleagues. Me, dreaming of Merlin and Arthur? It’s ridiculous.”

More gently, Merlin said, “You never mentioned it before.”

Arthur gave him a look of disbelief. “I’m a professional. I get enough crap when I talk about my digs. Archaeologists, I’ll have you know, can be quite cut-throat. Can you imagine how badly it would go if I talked about my dreams of Arthur and Merlin? No, not happening. I’d be laughed out of the British Archaeological Association and blackballed.”

Merlin could certainly understand that. He’d seen enough fights among archaeologists to know that sometimes it can get a little rough. But he wanted to know more. If Arthur was having dreams about their past lives, it might be possible that Arthur Drake was his Arthur or if nothing else, a herald of the Arthur to come. Either way, Merlin needed to be prepared.

“Can you, if it happens again, can you tell me about them? I’m really curious.” Merlin tried to make it sound like he was mildly interested, even though his heart was beating fast.

Arthur stared at him a moment. “How about this? I’ll tell you if you tell me about the digs you’ve been on. And don’t give me that look. It’s pretty clear that you’ve been on quite a few.” He leaned forward, staring intently at Merlin. “I want to know more about the mysterious Mr Emrys.”

“I’m an open book.” Merlin put his hand over his heart, trying to look innocent and thoroughly honest.

Arthur wasn’t falling for it. “Yeah, and I have Excalibur hidden in my room. Come on, spill.”

For a heart-stopping moment, Merlin believed him. Then he realised that Arthur was just joking. “I doubt it. You’d be crowing about it and waving the damn sword around otherwise. Besides, according to the legends, Excalibur is in a lake or a stone or both. It might even be true. Who knows?”

Arthur grinned. “Well, that old bearded guy with an owl might know. Or if the Once and Future King comes back, I’m sure he’d want his sword.”

Merlin was sure, too that Arthur would want his sword. He was less sure that it would ever happen. “Well, if the Once and Future does come back, I’ll send him to your room for it.”

Arthur just laughed.


	16. Chapter 16

Things got easier after that or maybe harder, depending. They laughed more, traded insults more, Merlin gave in more to Arthur’s requests for exploration, Arthur touched Merlin more.

It was the last that surprised Merlin. He hadn’t realised just how touch-starved he’d been until Arthur came along. But it was like sunlight to a flower. Merlin began to look forward to the evenings of banter and jostling on the sofa and laughing about nothing at all. Thighs and shoulders and hips touching, Arthur manhandling him, and once in a while, a brush of his hand through Merlin’s hair or across the back of his neck. Friendly gestures, but oh, how Merlin wanted so much more.

Arthur didn’t forget about what he wanted, though. He argued for the drone to go inside the caves and once Merlin thought about it and realised that he could ‘help’ the drone down certain tunnels and away from others, he agreed.

Of course, the git was ecstatic, and they spent the next few days finding out exactly what was in the caves that Merlin hadn’t been able to enter. Not unexpectedly, it was mostly animal bones, bats who didn’t want to be disturbed – that was fun, and Merlin mocked Arthur for it. They found lots of pretty minerals, greens and blues and a glint of gold.

Arthur teased him, of course, telling Merlin that he would be rich as Croesus if he ever decided to mine the area. Merlin just stared at him as if he’d gone insane, and Arthur laughed.

It was wonderful.

Underneath it all, though, Merlin was worried. He’d heard nothing back from the Druids, nothing of the threats Eleanor said were imminent. The shields around Sigan’s crypt were already as strong as he could make them, and when he cast his magic wider in the surrounding area, there wasn’t a hint of movement.

The nights, too, were disturbing. Several times, Merlin found Arthur in the kitchen, in the hours before dawn, making tea. He said it was from dreams, that they were getting intense at times. And he’d only share the ones that made him happy, and only if Merlin talked about his time on digs.

Luckily, Merlin had been on a few in recent times. He certainly couldn’t talk to Arthur about Petrie in Palestine or Carter’s digs in Egypt. Those were of another age and there was no way to explain how Merlin could have been working on archaeological sites a hundred years ago or more.

But the dreams, as exciting and new as they were to Arthur, were slices of life that Merlin had already experienced: mocking a medieval Merlin for stealing a lady’s gown – Arthur went into great detail about how ridiculous a kerchief around his neck was and how the buckles on the boots were so wrong for someone of that time period; throwing pillows and helmets and goblets at servant Merlin’s head; training with armoured knights which Arthur found wonderful and made him want to go back into the city to find someone to spar with; the weirdness of a troll and laughing at his father for marrying one.

Other times, he refused to say anything. He just shook his head, and it took Merlin ages to get him to smile again. Even the inevitable insults didn’t work.

Things came to a head some weeks later.

Woken from a deep sleep, at first Merlin was groggy and not a little confused. He’d been dreaming, but it faded too fast to remember, and it wasn’t until he heard a distant cry that he realised what had woken him.

Arthur was shouting, calling Merlin’s name with a desperation Merlin had not heard in centuries.

In a flash, he grabbed a robe, it had been a warm night and he was only half-dressed, and hurried to Arthur’s room.

There in bed, Arthur was thrashing around, almost as if he were fighting something off, then he sat up, hugging himself and begging over and over again, for Merlin to live. He sounded grief-stricken, and as Merlin ran over to him and tried to wake him up, he shoved Merlin aside, and curled inward, his hands hiding his face.

Merlin didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t magic after all, just a dream, but he couldn’t bear to hear Arthur so upset. He did the only thing he could think of, wrap his arms around Arthur and tell him it would be all right, that he was there.

Something must have got through. With one final groan, Arthur jerked in Merlin’s arms, stiffening abruptly. Then as he shuffled backwards out of Merlin’s reach, he looked at Merlin, wild and confused and with growing embarrassment.

“What? I’m… what?” Arthur stared at him, then wiped his face with one hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Arthur, you were yelling my name in your sleep. Are you all right?” Merlin let his arms fall. He couldn’t help but notice that Arthur’s eyes were red, and he still looked upset. “What happened?”

“It was nothing, a bad dream. Nothing to worry about.” Pulling the bedsheets up across his bare chest, apparently Merlin wasn’t the only one who slept half-naked, he seemed more worried that Merlin would see him vulnerable than anything else. “Go back to bed.”

Sighing, knowing that the middle of the night wasn’t the best time to be talking about _issues_ , still Merlin knew he had to do something.

Shifting closer to Arthur, Merlin curled his hand over Arthur’s wrist and held him still. “It’s gone on long enough. The dreams have been getting worse. If you can’t talk to me about them, then maybe call Lance or even your sister or Gwen. Someone. Or I could mix you a potion. I’ve quite a few for sleeping.”

“I told you that it’s nothing.” Frowning down at Merlin’s hand, and yet Arthur didn’t jerk away. Merlin counted that as a win.

“It’s not nothing, Arthur. We both know that.” He reached out and cupped Arthur’s neck, pulling him a little closer. “Was it about me?”

“Not everything is about you, Merlin.” Arthur leaned down, burying his face in his hands, then sat back up, shaking off Merlin’s grip. “Fine. I dreamed you died, well, I thought you died. We were on the road, you next to your horse. There was a bandit and he had a mace and it crashed into your chest. No one could survive that. No one.”

Merlin didn’t move away, though, didn’t want to give Arthur space to put up barriers. “And yet I’m here. Are you sure it was me?”

Sending Merlin a look that should have warned him to back off, Arthur growled, “Yeah, that stupid neckerchief around your throat and that bloody thin jacket. Not even chainmail or a leather vest. Why didn’t you have on a leather vest at least, you idiot?”

It was another moment in Merlin’s old life. The accuracy of it was breath-taking. Still Merlin had to know. “So, it wasn’t me, then. Just someone from long ago?”

Arthur looked miserable, as if reliving the memory. “It was Merlin of the legends. But he looked like you and his eyes were just as blue and those ridiculous ears of yours. Messy hair just like now and you… he moved the same and shouted out my name with your voice. That luscious mouth of yours grimacing in pain and… all right, I know it’s just a dream. I wish they would stop.”

Scrubbing his hands through his hair, Arthur grimaced. “Look, Merlin, it’s really not your problem. I’ll try and not disturb you again, okay?”

“Arthur, we’re friends, at least I hope we are. If you have a problem, then it’s mine, too.” Merlin covered Arthur’s hand with his own. “It sounds like you’ve been mixing me up with that Merlin character in your sister’s fanfiction epic, you know, the bizarre one. How about I make you some tea and put something stronger in it?”

“Not every solution has alcohol in it, you know.” When Merlin stared at him like he was crazy, Arthur looked away, then said, his voice flat and unhappy, “I thought you were dead.”

Grabbing his wrist and pulling him closer, Merlin pushed the palm of Arthur’s hand flat against Merlin’s chest, right above his heart. “Feel it? It’s beating and I’m breathing and no collapsed lungs or anything. I’m alive and I’m here. It was just a dream, Arthur.”

Arthur didn’t move. He just let his finger splay out, but he was watching Merlin’s face with such intensity that it took Merlin’s breath away. They’d gone from comfort to something more in an instant and Merlin just sat there waiting for whatever would come next.

It didn’t take long.

With a groan, Arthur jerked Merlin to him, his mouth wild against Merlin’s. His hand was trapped against Merlin’s chest a moment, then slipped sideways, fingers busy exploring the lines of muscle and Merlin’s too sensitive nipple, then sliding down to Merlin’s arse, pulling him closer. All the while, Arthur’s tongue was demanding entrance, and Merlin eager to let him.

Arthur lifted up a little, holding on to Merlin as if to never let him go, then heaved Merlin down onto the bed and climbed over him, pinning Merlin down. His hands were everywhere, but Merlin’s were, too.

Cupping Arthur’s glorious, and to Merlin’s delight, naked arse, feeling hot skin and soft hair as his fingers lingered around Arthur’s hole, as Merlin played there, Arthur groaned into Merlin’s mouth and pushed his arse backward, chasing the pleasure. 

Merlin could feel every inch of him, Arthur growing hard and wet and so very intent as his cock was thrusting into Merlin’s hip. Merlin, too, was hard, and he wanted to follow that brilliance, sparks of growing lust and white heat blossoming in his groin.

Reaching between them, Arthur took Merlin in hand, his thumb smearing the wetness there, knowing just how much to twist to bring out growing ecstasy, and as he did, he bit Merlin’s lip and soothed it with his tongue. Merlin groaned, then shoved himself deeper into Arthur’s hand, the intensity of it all but wiping clean any thought of stopping.

But then Arthur leaned back a little, panting as he continued to drive Merlin crazy. Whispering, his voice soft and desperate, Arthur said, “Tell me you want this. Tell me or I’ll let you go, and we’ll never speak of it again.”

He couldn’t lie to Arthur, not in this. “I’ve wanted you since the day we met.”

With that, Arthur gave a little breathless laugh, then grabbing Merlin’s hand and curling it around Arthur’s cock, he slid down, and wetting his lips, he took Merlin’s cock in his mouth. Licking, swirling his tongue around the head, he’d obviously done it before, and he was brilliant at it. Knowing how to find pleasure and increase it a thousand-fold, Merlin’s cock in his throat, Arthur inched down and down until he was nose-deep in Merlin’s groin, then hummed, opening and closing his throat, deliberate and sure.

It was brilliant, it was too much and not enough, and Merlin was flying on the pleasure of it, higher and higher, sunlight and heat and ecstasy a mad storm of orgasmic bliss. He couldn’t stop it even if he tried.

With a shout, he came, pouring himself out into Arthur’s willing mouth.

He was still shuddering out his delight when Arthur pulled back and let the last of his release pool there. Then Arthur slid his finger through the come, gathering it up and pushing it back into Merlin’s waiting entrance. Somehow, in all of that, there was lube, too, and Arthur’s fingers busy inside Merlin, searching for that perfect spot even as Merlin lay there, languid and satiated.

Arthur kissed him again, then said, “Still with me? Because I’m not done with you yet.”

Merlin just nodded, then pulled him down for another lingering kiss. He could feel Arthur smiling through it, then as Arthur pushed a third finger in and hit a spot that made him groan, he reached down and his hand curled around Arthur’s wrist, deliberately pulling it toward him so that Arthur’s hand slid even deeper into Merlin.

Glancing down, he could see Arthur watching him, blue eyes almost black, and Arthur was flushed in all the right places.

As Merlin let go, Arthur, with his other hand, flung a condom at him and told him to open it. It was difficult enough. He felt exhausted and excited and brilliant all at the same time, and with Arthur curling his fingers inside Merlin, he could barely think. But as Arthur chuckled and smiled down at him, looking hungry and intense and so very Arthur, the package came open under Merlin’s fingers.

As he slid it onto Arthur’s leaking cock, Arthur gave a gasp, pushing himself into Merlin’s busy hands. When it was done, when the condom was gleaming with lube and Arthur panting, he pulled Merlin’s robe off, then turned Merlin over, and inch by inch, sunk that glorious cock into him.

Merlin had not had a lover in decades, but the feeling of Arthur lit up something up inside of him. Like they were two broken halves of a coin that had been apart for millennia and were joined once more, melding in one joyous moment.

Arthur’s groans were in Merlin’s ear, his breath panting hot against his neck, and the fullness of Arthur was glorious. The pleasure was growing again, circles of white heat and sunfire spiralling up his spine until Merlin thought he would die from it. Behind him, Arthur was shoving himself in, hard and frantic and whispering Merlin’s name as he grew harder still, biting down on Merlin’s neck and sucking it, soothing it with his mouth.

But Arthur had enough mind left to curl his hand around Merlin’s cock, and as he stiffened and then groaned out his ecstasy, Merlin fell, too, pouring out his pleasure into Arthur’s waiting hand.

Afterwards, for a long while, they didn’t say anything. Merlin was strung out of bliss and exhaustion. Arthur, probably, as well.

But when Arthur slid out of Merlin, walking into the loo and then bringing back towels and a cloth to wipe Merlin down, he said, “I won’t apologise for it. But if I’ve overstepped or made a mistake in thinking you wanted this as much as I did, I’ll understand.”

Merlin looked up at him, then held out one hand, and pulled him back down to sit beside him, Merlin said, “I wasn’t lying. I’ve wanted this for a very long time. I just… don’t know where we go from here. Someday, you’ll leave, and I’ll… be left behind.”

“Merlin, I don’t intend to go anywhere.”

Arthur couldn’t help but leave. Even if he stayed until the last, Merlin had lost friends and lovers to time, to age and death, until they were nothing more than dust, until they faded from everyone’s memory but Merlin’s own. It was inevitable.

“No, I’m sure you don’t.” Merlin sent him a smile, trying to let Arthur feel that what they’d done wasn’t wrong, that it was something that Merlin wanted, too. “Don’t worry about it. I think we should take it one step at a time and see where it goes. No commitments, no long-term plans for now, just… enjoying each other’s company as we’ve always done.”

Arthur looked unhappy at that, but he nodded.

As Merlin pulled him back down, curling his legs around Arthur’s, he gave Arthur a lingering kiss. “It will be better in the morning.”

A little hmmph, Arthur closed his eyes and sunk into Merlin’s arms, and was soon asleep.

But Merlin lay awake and worried. What had he done?

In the morning, Arthur was careful around Merlin, seeming unsure of just where they were and what the future would hold. But Merlin smiled at him, treating him the same as always, hiding the sadness in his chest with insults and talk of work and small things.

There was nothing final between them, though, nothing of the heart because while Merlin’s heart would always be Arthur Pendragon’s, he was torn. Arthur Drake had grown into Merlin’s life and letting him go would be the hardest thing he’d ever have to do. Under it all, Merlin loved him as much as Arthur of Camelot.

They moved on, and each day was better than the last. Arthur was less apt to leave Merlin out of the loop with his archaeological studies, and sometimes he’d even share some of the things he was reading, new discoveries, the arguments of countries and peoples over the theft of relics, how his colleagues were doing at their own digs.

He reminded Merlin, too, that Lance wanted to see Arthur again to talk about what they’d discovered, and also that Arthur had best man duties at Lance and Gwen’s wedding in January.

More importantly, there would be times when Arthur would smile at Merlin and they’d end up shagging in Merlin’s bed or Arthur’s or in the castle dungeon or Uther’s old quarters – although Arthur had to work hard to get Merlin to agree to that one but he did have magic fingers and that mouth of his was persuasive especially when sucking Merlin’s cock. One time, they even ended up exploring each other in Kilgharrah’s cave which made Merlin grin for no reason that he could explain to Arthur.

But however many places they ended up, they avoided Arthur and Morgana’s rooms. Merlin would shake his head and lead Arthur somewhere else and Arthur didn’t ask why.

And so, the days went. Merlin was still cautious. He checked Sigan’s crypt and the caves around it every day, looking to see if there had been any changes, and he walked the castle ruins alone when Arthur was busy with analysis, sending his magic outward to try and detect incursions, but there was nothing.

Following, too, Eleanor’s new product line, Merlin watched videos of her at openings. She talked about ingredients and the magic of herbs, but it just seemed ordinary, mere hype for selling products, and she didn’t come back to confront Merlin. As far as he could tell, even Arthur didn’t see much of her, just visiting her and his father once in a while for dinner or to appear at a Pendragon Inc. gathering. Arthur always seemed relieved to return home to Merlin’s arms.

And little by little, Merlin began to relax.


	17. Chapter 17

There was a decided chill in the air and patches of thick fog when Merlin left the house for his morning check of the grounds.

Over the past few weeks, Arthur’s dreams had come back in full force, and Merlin started brewing potions again to help Arthur sleep. They mostly worked, especially when he poured magic into them, but Arthur was tired and a bit cranky at times. It did help when Merlin shagged him into oblivion, and sometimes Arthur would taunt him with insults, bone-idle toad and buffoon and girl’s petticoat in between grunts of ‘more’ and ‘harder’ and ‘get on with it’. Merlin loved the insults, and when Arthur realised that, he went in search of more. Sometimes the sex was really quite spectacular after a long string of invectives coming out of that gorgeous mouth. Sometimes Merlin wondered if he’d gone mad. 

But Merlin didn’t want to look at it too closely. He was sure Gaius would have had a field day with that eyebrow of his and asking just why those particular insults made Merlin happy. Gods above, he missed Gaius at times.

Upstairs, Arthur was still sleeping. He’d arrived home late last night, his visit to his family done, and while Arthur hadn’t really wanted to, his father was feeling under the weather and Arthur felt he had to go. But Arthur did double duty this time, bringing his sister some of the latest crop of Merlin’s herbs, dried and sorted, from his garden for her laboratory. Her make-up line was doing quite well, according to Arthur, and she wanted to expand it a bit with new products.

He told Merlin all about it as he stumbled into bed after midnight, gave Merlin Eleanor’s thanks for the herbs, then fell asleep, and promptly started snoring into Merlin’s shoulder.

Truth be told, Merlin was feeling unsettled and a bit anxious the last couple of days, too, almost as if there were an itch under his skin that he couldn’t reach or eyes watching his every move. His magic was quiet, though, and he tried to shake off the increasing feeling of dread. It didn’t help that he kept wondering if, or rather when, the Druids would seek him out again and what they’d do when he said no.

Merlin shuddered. He just hoped Arthur wouldn’t be around to see it.

As he got closer to the castle, he could hear the leaves overhead whispering to each other, tree branches creaking a bit, the squirrels chittering a warning, then silence. Hugging the pathways, the mist was turning the tree trunks into black ghosts, and Merlin couldn’t see more than a dozen feet in front of him. But as he looked up, the ruined towers were wreathed in shadow and light, the rising sun burning off the mist in places and turning the fog blood-red in others. A castle shrouded in mystery and silence, a place of legend and death.

Merlin began to run.

There was no one there when he got to the courtyard. The mist was still wrapped around Arthur’s tower, but there was already movement as the wind picked up and blew through the gateway, chasing the fog into corners, up through broken windows and ruined staircases, and leaving the heart of Camelot clear. Crows circled high above, then began to settle onto the towers, squawking at each other, the doves in the crumbling windows cooing a soft counterpoint to their noisy complaints. It was the beginnings of a normal day.

Letting out a long sigh of relief, Merlin closed his eyes, just happy that he’d been wrong.

When he opened them again, Eleanor or rather Morgana, wrapped in a cloak of Druidic greens and browns and magic, walked through the gate.

And then there was Bodhmall and Rhain and Airmid and a hundred others, Druid and non-Druids, magic users all, the powerful and not so powerful, from the lowest to the highest.

The Eldest of them, one who had taken the name of Taliesin after his great ancestor, stared at Merlin a moment, then said, mind to mind, _“Emrys, we have come for the things you have stolen. Do not make us take them from you unwillingly. Give them freely and we will welcome you back as the greatest of us.”_

“They are for Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King.” Merlin took a step back, then drew himself up, raising his chin as he said, “As I have told you time and again, they are not mine to give.”

Morgana spat out, “Stubborn as ever, you old fool.” Behind her, the rest were fanning out, filling the courtyard, staffs in their hands, waiting, waiting.

Merlin didn’t want to hurt them, but he wasn’t going to back down. “Leave and I will not pursue you, leave and we can still be allies, leave while you still can. But I will not give you what you want.”

Into his mind, Taliesin said, _“We hoped you would be reasonable. No one person is meant to hold such power. You know this and yet you refuse to acknowledge it.”_ Taliesin grimaced, then nodded. _“So be it, then, Emrys. Let this be on your head.”_

Churning like a thundercloud overhead, magic was growing. Merlin could feel it like a buzz under his skin. Raising his hands, he sent a pulse outward, nothing painful but a tangible show of strength.

Many of the sorcerers staggered back, but more were trying to get past him, toward the entrance into the dungeons and Sigan’s crypt. As they began to run, their mind-to-mind communication echoing in his head, Merlin jerked them away, sending some of them skidding across the stones. But others were throwing shields up, and there were so many that Merlin couldn’t deal with them all at once.

Still he tried, sending them tumbling, then calling on the vines and plants lingering in the corners of the stonework to grow and turn into ropes, hoping to bind them all before they could slip by and enter the crypt. At first it worked, but they must have planned for it somehow, because in the next few moments, the ropes faded into dust and blew away.

But they weren’t done.

High above him, there were crows circling, obviously disturbed by the sounds of battle. Then they seemed to wheel as one and dive toward him, claws out, squawking obscenities as they beat against his magical shield, a flurry of black feathers obscuring his sight.

The birds couldn’t hurt him, not with his magic holding firm, but he realised it was a distraction. And he wasn’t about to give in.

Taking control, using a counter spell he’d learned long ago, he sent them aloft, a wall of furious birds that turned to attack his enemies. But the sorcerers were prepared for that, too, and the crows soared into the ruined windows where the doves remained. For a moment, there was a cacophony of white and black wings before they flew as one, over the rooftops and into the distance beyond.

Merlin had had enough.

Reaching down to wrench power from the earth itself, he sent it skyward, began to twist the remaining fog into wind and storm and danger, a whirlwind rumbling down, down, until it was screaming around the courtyard. His foes scattered, some trying to disrupt the twisting funnel, sending pulses of magic toward it, others just running for cover. The wind grew stronger, began pulling up loose stones and dust, turning it into a black cloud of menace, and a few of the sorcerers were sucked up into it, screaming as they did, and then they were flung out again, hitting the castle walls and landed onto the stones below. They didn’t get up.

In one small corner of his mind, he hoped they survived. They were only doing what they thought was right, but they’d started it, and Merlin was going to finish it, no matter the cost.

Behind him, Merlin could hear chanting, and the wind abruptly stopped, the rocks contained within it, falling with sharp, dangerous thunks onto the stone. People were ducking for cover, but Merlin began pulling debris and shoving it, rolling over and over like wheels of destruction toward them, a woman he didn’t know next to the entrance shouting mind-to-mind a silent warning.

As he glanced back at the rest, there were staffs pointed at him and chants, so much so that it seemed a thousand voices were raised up, but staggering back, Merlin sent out even more power, pulled the stone gargoyles from overhead crashing down toward the crowd.

The sound of it was deafening, as the carvings broke apart, sending shards of rock everywhere, and dust spilling upward. And screams, too, as people were pummelled with stones.

But it didn’t stop them. Instead, the chanting grew more strident, as tangible as the castle itself, Merlin almost deafened by it, and the shield around him collapsed.

He couldn’t let them win. Arthur would be left with nothing.

Another wild tug, his power almost glowing in the morning light, there was sunfire in his hands and he started throwing them toward the sorcerers, at their feet and above their heads to try and frighten them away. But as they hit the walls and cobblestones in the heart of Camelot, the stone began to melt and there were cries of horror all around.

But it didn’t stop them from coming.

As he drew more and more on the connection he had with the relics below and the earth itself, walls were shaking under the onslaught of his magic, a battleground of power and desperation, as if the citadel itself were being pulled apart in Merlin’s determination to protect Arthur’s legacy.

Archways began to collapse, and above them, Uther’s tower was disintegrating. In the courtyard, a fissure abruptly opened, smoke and filth spiralling up, and those nearby scrambled out of the way, but not fast enough, and at least one of them fell in, her screams fading fast.

In the back of his mind, he was shrieking, too, a kind of madness that was closing in. This wasn’t who he was, this wasn’t who he wanted to be, but every time he tried to protect Arthur, he ended up a killer.

It was chaos in the centre of the citadel. Smoke and walls falling, and Merlin cried out as Morgana’s window shattered into a thousand pieces.

Screams everywhere, his magic was a sick mixture of power and sorrow. Off to his left, Taliesin shouted something to Morgana, and as Merlin turned to her, the cloak she’d been wearing was twisting up, and hovering over his head. There was metal in there, magical and weighty, and without thought, Merlin tried to throw up another shield to keep it from falling onto him.

But as he did so, he heard a door slam as sorcerers swarmed into the building that led into the dungeons, the caves, and Sigan’s crypt. And in the next instant, a body crashed into him, distracting him. The net flowed down and around him and he was caught fast, caged in and helpless, his magic out of reach.

Woven into the cloth, chains like those Morgause used on him so long ago, and effective. He’d need a dragon’s help to escape, but the dragons died out centuries ago.

The Druids and their allies didn’t even stay to gloat. A few of the sorcerers were helping those hurt to escape through the castle entrance. But most were already disappearing down into the earth, hunting for Merlin’s treasures.

Merlin wanted to howl in desperation.

Morgana was still there, and it wasn’t gloating but pity in her eyes. “You’ve been alone too long. Your heart is sick with grief and it has blinded you.” She leaned over, starting to reach out, then stopped and stood up. “We will bring magic back into the world. I only hope you accept it. Because I think, Arthur wouldn’t have wanted any of this.”

“Morgana, please, I won’t be able to protect him without those things. I need them to keep him safe. The magic….” But she wasn’t listening to him.

“Magic will come back into the world, not just here but everywhere. Perhaps then, we will forgive you the pain you have caused. And your selfishness.” With that, she hurried off, past the crumbled walls, the still-smoking fissure, the glass shards glinting in the morning sun, and disappeared into the bowels of the earth.

Begging, pleading, howling at them for stealing Arthur’s legacy, Merlin was left there, watching them hurry away with all the treasures he’d collected over the years. Some of them looked at him with pity, some with disdain, a few scowling at him and arguing with Taliesin that Merlin should be punished for his transgressions. Quarrels seemed to swirl inside his head, a furious cacophony of non-sound reminding him of just how helpless he was.

But Taliesin just shook his head at the others. _“That was not the Druid way. Emrys will face his own consequences.”_

Merlin said, his voice shaking with grief, “Please, don’t. Arthur will be left with nothing. How can I protect him if….”

 _“Your way would not have protected him.”_ Gesturing out toward the castle, now far more ruined than a thousand years had done, Taliesin said aloud, “Look around you, Emrys. This is what you’ve wrought. Grief made manifest. We could not allow you to do this to the wider world.”

“This wasn’t my doing. If you had just left me alone, the relics would have been safe.” Merlin all but shouted. “Arthur needs them.”

For a long moment, Taliesin stared down at him. _“When you are ready to live again, we will rejoice. When the balance has been restored, we will welcome you back to us. Until then, farewell.”_

Then he turned away and helped the limping woman next to him hobble out of the gateway. Beside him, injured Druids, some with bloodied cloaks, and one carried in another’s arms, unconscious but still breathing, sped past.

All of them ignored his pleas. Even Morgana, the Crystal of Neahtid cradled in her arms, was silent, stopping a moment to stare down at him, before she hurried away.


	18. Chapter 18

What seemed a lifetime later, Arthur showed up.

Merlin had tried everything to escape, using spells he’d not thought of in centuries, twisting himself around to find a weakness, trying to make himself small enough to get past the chains, but nothing worked. The magical net just tightened around him, holding him fast.

In the end, Merlin lay on his back, staring up at the blue sky and watching the hawks overhead, the returned doves cooing in the distance. The birds seemed so free and beautiful as they dipped and soared in the wind. Wishing he could fly away, too, or at least wipe the tears flowing down his cheeks, Merlin didn’t hear Arthur’s footsteps at first.

But he did hear Arthur shouting as he ran up to Merlin and wrapped his arms around him.

It felt so good and so very wrong. All Merlin could do was breathe out, “Arthur.”

Pulling back, Arthur started pressing his hands over Merlin’s chest and arms, feeling for injuries. Then a moment later, when he must have realised that it was better to set Merlin free first, Arthur reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver disk, embossed with a triskelion.

“Morgs left me this, said it was a key. She wasn’t making much sense. She told me to come down here and set you free.” As he pressed it to the chains and they fell away into a pile around Merlin, Merlin was already scrambling up, looking toward the entrance where Sigan’s crypt lay. But Arthur was still talking. “What the hell happened? I heard the noise all the way back to the house. It looks like a bomb exploded here.”

Merlin turned back to him. Blinking at him, half-dazed with what had happened, Merlin said, “You aren’t him. You aren’t Arthur and you never will be.”

Arthur jerked back, frowning, then reaching up, he cupped his hand around the back of Merlin’s head. “Merlin, you aren’t making any sense. Did you hit your head?” When Merlin stepped back and shook Arthur off, Arthur said, “Maybe we should go to A&E and get you checked out. Then get the police involved. This was clearly… where are you going?”

Merlin was already running toward the rubble. He said, “Stay here. I’ll only be a moment.” He certainly didn’t need Arthur to follow him, to see what had happened. He didn’t want to have to try and figure out some lie that Arthur would believe. Besides, he had enough of lies.

Behind him, Arthur was shouting, “Merlin, come back!”

But Merlin ignored him and started running down the stairs and into the tunnels.

As he hurried past, he could see the walls there were tenuous, crumbled in some spots, rock falls blocking the way in others. Gathering his now weakened magic, frantic to get to the crypt, he blasted them aside, and kept running.

If there were footfalls behind him, he ignored the sounds. It could be an echo of his own running or perhaps someone was still trapped below.

He had to see, he had to know just how bad it was.

And as he skidded into the tomb, he knew.

It was bad.

There was nothing left, just pedestals empty of their treasures, glowing cases of dust and memories. Even the Celtic crosses and ancient plinths were gone. The Druids must have conjured them away somehow.

Letting out a low moan, he stumbled deeper into the tomb, past the emptiness, past the waste of centuries lost, past the hollow echoes of everything he’d ever done.

It had all been for nothing. And he knew he couldn’t get them back. The Druids and their allies would guard the magical relics well, letting acolytes and those with magical potential come close, but never Merlin, never again. He burned those bridges and now there was nothing left.

Falling to his knees, seeing only sand and the depths of wasted centuries, he didn’t pay attention to Arthur shaking him. His heart was breaking, his magic, too, closing up, becoming smaller and smaller until he could barely feel it.

But when Arthur didn’t stop, when he knelt down next to him and held him close, it didn’t matter. Nothing did.

Finally, Arthur pulled him up, and tried to get him to walk away. As he did, Arthur was mouthing soft words, some kind of nonsense about going to bed and how it would be better in the morning and he’d make sure whoever did this would pay for it.

Merlin felt every year of his life in his bones. Barely able to move, he didn’t notice Arthur stopping. But he looked up when Arthur said, “What’s that? Some kind of… it’s….”

Staring off into the distance, Merlin could see the one thing they’d missed, Excalibur. Leaning up against the wall, the sword golden in the dim light, they’d left him a relic of the past, something for Arthur after all. Beside it, the red remnants of Arthur’s cloak lay in the dust.

“It’s a sword. Where did you get it?” Before Merlin could say anything, Arthur went to pick it up, but Merlin was faster.

Stepping in front of Arthur, Merlin grabbed the sword, pulling it out of Arthur’s reach. Merlin said, sharp and final, “You’re not him. It’s only for him.”

Arthur looked at him as if Merlin had just shoved a dagger into Arthur’s heart. Paling, his throat working like he was having a hard time accepting any of it, Arthur said, “Who? What are you talking about?”

“The sword, Excalibur.” Reaching down, pulling the cloak up and wrapping the sword in it, Merlin refused to look at him. “It’s for Arthur Pendragon, my king, my friend, the only man I’ve ever loved. He’s my everything.”

When Merlin could finally bear to look at Arthur, the pained expression on Arthur’s face had cleared and he just looked concerned. Arthur stepped closer, said gently, carefully, softly, “He’s only a myth, Merlin. You must have knocked your head worse than I thought. Let me get you home and we’ll talk.”

“You have no idea.” Merlin stepped back. Raising one hand, feeling the magic beginning to rise again, he said, “I am Emrys, Myrddin Ambrosius, Merlin of the legends. And you aren’t him.”

“Merlin, please, you’re off your head. You need help.” Arthur reached out to him, his voice concerned.

But as soon as Arthur’s hand wrapped around Merlin’s arm and he started to drag Merlin toward the exit and the tunnel beyond, Merlin shouted, “Let me go.”

In another lifetime, Merlin would have known what to do, but he’d been through too much, loss and destruction and all he could think of was that his Arthur would die again without the protection Merlin had amassed over the centuries. And this man, this stranger was pulling him away, keeping him from making things right.

When he wouldn’t let go, finally Merlin had had enough. Clutching Excalibur with one hand, he raised his other hand, and shouted, “ _Flēog_!”

Magic flowing easily, and Arthur was flying up and away, landing against one of the pillars of the crypt. His eyes were wide, mouth agape as if he couldn’t understand what had just happened. “Merlin?”

Merlin backed away, his hand over his mouth, trying to keep in the grief, before it all became too much.

“Merlin?” Arthur said again, grimacing as he started to get up. “What….”

It all happened at once.

There was a sharp crack, the sound echoing in the tomb. Overhead, the ceiling began to fall, stones and crumbling walls breaking inward, and Arthur was standing under it. He’d be crushed in a moment, he’d never have time to escape its destruction. And they both knew it.

Acting on instinct, Merlin couldn’t do anything else but stop time. The walls hovered in the air, the blocks of stone tilting so far over, and nothing holding any of it up, but Merlin’s magic.

Merlin reached out, grabbing Arthur, pulling him out of the way, and a moment later, half the crypt was buried in rubble and dust. They ran, through the tunnels, up the stairs, and into the sunlight.

Trying to breathe, hoping that his heart would still be intact by day’s end, Merlin didn’t say anything. He just kept looking everywhere but at Arthur. And waited for the knife-thrust. It didn’t take long.

Finally, Arthur murmured, “What was that? Who are you?”

Merlin looked at him. Dust-covered, even now he was so much like his Arthur that he wanted to weep. Nevertheless, Merlin wasn’t going to lie to him. Not anymore.

“I am one who lives in the hope of King Arthur’s return.” He tried to close the distance between them, but Arthur stepped back, staring at Merlin as if he were a monster. Perhaps he was right. With shoulders slumping, he said, “I am Merlin of Ealdor and of Camelot. I’ve lived a thousand years waiting for the Once and Future King and I’ll wait a thousand more if necessary.”

“It’s not possible.” Arthur took another step back, disbelief and pain all over his face. “You can’t be Merlin. It’s just a story.”

Merlin shrugged. It was all he could do. “And yet here I am, in Camelot, waiting for Arthur Pendragon, the Once and Future King, to return. To gift him my life and my magic.”

“There’s no such thing as magic.” Arthur’s voice was flat, definitive, unyielding, but as he stood there, Merlin could see that Arthur was fighting his own instincts, looking as if he did believe in magic and was horrified by the idea.

“Yes, just a set of constructs from data that your brain is processing without you being aware of it,” Merlin quoted Arthur back at him. Merlin wanted to reach out and shake him into seeing what was right in front of his eyes. “And yet, somehow, magic is real. It is here. It is now. And so am I.”

“It’s not possible.” Arthur shook his head again, backing up even further, his body half-turned toward the gateway and escape. “You..., it… it’s me who’s dreaming. It can’t be real.”

Merlin was torn between denying everything and showing Arthur just how beautiful magic could be. But Arthur deserved the truth, and for once, Merlin would be brave enough to admit it.

“It’s real enough.” Laying down Excalibur, Merlin raised both hands and whispered into them. “ _Buterfléoge_ _welhecwen_.” Smiling, as he opened his hands, a flock of iridescent blue butterflies began to flutter away.

“ _Fāgete_.” With that, the butterflies changed colour, to greens and reds and golds, oranges and purples, a brilliant bouquet of colour and movement before they coalesced into the Pendragon crest and then slowly disappeared.

Arthur stood there for a moment, scowling, the frown so deep it seemed to cut into his skin. Then he shook himself free of whatever he was thinking and turned to Merlin.

“It’s tricks and nonsense. Or else I must have hit my head harder than I realized.” Stepping back, avoiding the pity in Merlin’s eyes, Arthur said, “This is garbage. There’s no magic, it’s just not possible. And you using tricks to confuse the issue, I don’t get it. You know how I feel about it.”

Merlin couldn’t believe that Arthur could be so blind. “Magic is real, as real as you are. You can’t wish it away just because it doesn’t fit in with your world view. I’ve seen such things. You have no idea of what’s out there. And I’ve used it, too. Many times.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “You are off your head. All this absurd insistence on Arthur and Camelot and magic. And you thinking you are really Merlin of legend.” He reached out then, pulling Merlin toward the gate and the woods beyond, leaving the sword behind them in the rubble. “Come on, I’ll have you checked out at A&E. A watchful eye. That’s what you need now.”

“I _am_ Merlin.” Jerking out of his grasp, Merlin ran back to pick up the sword, wrapping it up again in the dusty cloak, glaring at Arthur who was shaking his head in disbelief.

“Leave it. I’ll get it later. You need medical attention,” Arthur said, sounding thoroughly worried.

“Arthur would never leave his sword behind. Ever.” Merlin was scowling, realising that he’d been so mistaken about Drake, that all the portends and visions were just smoke in the wind, that he was confused about everything and now he saw clearly. “I hoped you were him. I did. I thought maybe you’d returned from Avalon to me, that you’d just forgotten or I had, but I see now I was wrong. He would never….”

Arthur looked shocked. “Wait, what? You thought I was King Arthur? You…” He stepped back, looking at the sword and then at Merlin again. Swallowing hard, his voice raw, Arthur said, “All this time… I thought, fuck, all this time I thought you loved me. Me, not some kind of legend with my name on it. Not some King Arthur substitute that you’d made up in your head.”

“Arthur, that’s not….” Merlin said, trying to reach out to him.

Arthur backed away, away from Merlin’s hands. “No, you are off your head and we are going to A&E and then after they look you over, you can explain again why you think I’m King Arthur. Or not.”

“They won’t find anything wrong. I’m Merlin and….”

“Shut up. Just shut up.” With that, he stalked away, not even waiting for Merlin.

A&E didn’t find anything other than some cuts and bruises. Arthur was standing there, a glowering cloud over everything but Merlin was still reeling from what had happened and all that he’d lost.

When they got out of A&E, and Arthur drove them back to Merlin’s house, Arthur said, “I could forgive you trying to deceive me with magic tricks. I could even believe that you had lost your mind with so much loss up at the castle. But making me think that you loved me… when I’m just someone you’ve been playing with because you’re lonely…, that you want me to be some kind of legend that you’ve made up in your head, no. I’m real, Merlin, with real feelings and a real life, not some made up nonsense. And I refuse to play that game any longer.”

With that, Arthur turned away, walking up into the house, ignoring Merlin.

Merlin called after him, “Arthur, don’t go. I can explain, it’s not like… don’t.” But Arthur wouldn’t listen.


	19. Chapter 19

It didn’t take long. By the time, Merlin hobbled back into his house, dragging Excalibur behind him, Arthur had already packed his clothes. He ignored Merlin’s explanations, instead he unplugged his computer, shoved his equipment into his lorry, and then drove off. The things they’d gathered together, rusted pikes, scraps of cloth and stone carvings, remained behind. It was almost as if Arthur had rejected Camelot, too.

It didn’t matter anymore.

Merlin had lived a thousand years, accumulating magic until they took it all away, like they’d taken Arthur Pendragon away, so very long ago. And he finally had to admit it to himself. Arthur, king, friend, a man for whom he’d given up everything, wasn’t coming back. Ever.

He stopped caring after that. Stopped eating, stopped living. He spent a lot of time sleeping, but that had its own downside as he would dream of Arthur calling to him – not his king but Arthur Drake. Often, he’d wake with tears in his eyes and a wet pillow.

Looking around the ruins, seeing how much more destruction the battle had wrought was enough to sicken him. That he could no longer feel the magic of the place, that it was just stones and mortar and memories, left him numb.

He didn’t clear away the debris. After all, it had been for his king, and now if it all turned to dust, what difference would it make?

Whenever he thought to pull himself out of the depths, he tried to pay attention to the news, but it was a hard slog to even care. Sometimes, though, he would hear about odd sightings, and unexplained phenomena. The scientists dismissed all talk of magic, but it was growing. 

Perhaps the Druids had been right after all.

Whatever happened, magic left Merlin behind. Deep down, he was glad, but a large boulder sat on his chest, the knowledge that it had been his fault weighing heavily.

Days melted into one another after that. The birds were flying south, the doves still cooing in the distance, crows sometimes settling on his roof and cawing out their annoyance. The leaves were started to turn, into browns and then falling, drifting in the wind. Sometimes Merlin would watch them.

Sometimes he just stared off into the autumn sky and wondered if for Samhain, he could disappear into the rift between the worlds and never come back. It was thinnest then, and there was no one left to care if he did.

He never thought he’d see Morgana again.

When she marched in, furious, her green eyes flashing gold at times, her hands fisted tight, Merlin was surprised, then a dull wonder settled on him.

The Druids had taken everything but the sword. Perhaps she was there to steal that, too. It lay where he’d dropped it the day Arthur left him, on the side table next to the sofa, the blade still wrapped in red wool and memory. He’d not touched it since.

But Morgana didn’t even look in its direction. Instead, she stared down at Merlin, scowling at him.

Merlin knew what she’d see. He hadn’t bathed in days or had it been weeks. His clothes were shabby and worn, a tear in one elbow that he’d not bothered to fix, his hair longish and uncombed. He’d mostly shaved a few days back, mainly because the scruff was itching him but nothing else.

“What the fuck did you do to my brother?” she said, her voice flat, hard, unyielding.

Blinking up at her, at first what she said didn’t make any sense. Merlin hadn’t seen Arthur since the day he’d left and there’s been no communication of any kind since.

Clearing his throat, Merlin murmured, “I… I haven’t… he left.”

“I know he left. He told me so when I went to see him a few weeks back. I’m talking about now.” She looked down at him, wrinkling her nose. “You stink.”

Merlin didn’t know what to think. After all this time, Morgana showed up. It didn’t make sense. “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be… magicking something? I think Samhain is soon, or is it over? It’s hard to keep… track.”

Standing over him, her face smoothed out. Then she looked more contemplative than angry. “You look like hell, you know. Go get cleaned up. I’ll wait.”

“What do you want, Eleanor? And make it quick. I’m busy.” Merlin had had enough. He just wanted to go and hide from her, and nurse his wounds, and stop thinking.

“I can see that.” The sarcasm in her voice was unmistakable. But when Merlin didn’t say anything else, she nodded as if coming to some decision. “I’ve news of Arthur and I think you can help him.”

Closing his eyes for a moment, he looked back up at her, shaking his head as he said, “He hates me. And you stole my past and my future and now there’s nothing left. So congratulations. You finally won.”

Reaching down, she jerked Merlin, protesting, to his feet, then began pushing him into the hallway. “I refuse to talk with you when you’re like this. Get cleaned up and I’ll make you something to eat. You look like death warmed over, by the way. And then we’ll discuss my brother and what you are going to do to fix this.” 

“This is my house and you are trespassing.” Merlin glared down at her. “I can’t _fix_ this. So how about you leave, and I get on with my life.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she gave him a look that should have turned him into dust. “He’s miserable, you utter arse, and unless you don’t care about him at all, you will fix this.”

Staring down at her, looking at the perfect make-up, the fashionable clothes, her hair coiffed in the latest style, and seeing nothing but concern for her brother and fury at him for being a wanker, Merlin let out a sigh. “Fine. I’ll clean up. The kitchen might be a little… sparse, though.”

She gave him a triumphant smile. “We can always order takeout.”

“Good luck with that.” Merlin started walking up the stairs. “I won’t be long.”

When he came back downstairs, he felt much better. He’d not realised just how disgusting he’d been, wallowing in self-pity and grief. At least now, he was washed, wearing cleaner clothes, and almost ready to hear what Morgana had to say. Almost.

Morgana was standing in the kitchen, staring down at a pan where eggs were about to char. Snatching it away from her, he scraped the remnants onto a plate and began to eat. As the eggs hit his tongue, he realised that he was starving. It didn’t matter that it was mostly burnt, it tasted wonderful.

“So this village isn’t London. There was no takeout anywhere.” Morgana sounded like she blamed him for that. “I’m a CEO. When I want food, I get it delivered.”

She was watching him closely, but he didn’t care. In between mouthfuls of charred egg, he said, “If you want delivery, go back to London.”

Reaching out, it looked almost as if Morgana… Eleanor, was about to comfort him, her hand open, her face full of pity. But Merlin jerked back, out of arm’s length.

Sighing, letting her hand fall to her side, she said, “We didn’t do it to hurt you. You must know that.”

Turning away, dropping the dish into the sink, he left it, unwashed. He stood there, gazing off into his unkempt garden, ignoring her. “Doesn’t matter. It’s done. A thousand years of gathering things that Arthur would need and it’s gone.” He shrugged, half-hearted, exhausted by all the nonsense. “Doesn’t matter anyway. He’s not coming back.”

“Are we talking about my brother or the Once and Future king?” she said. Standing next to him, looking out into the distance, at least she didn’t try to touch him again. He didn’t think he could bear any more kindness.

“Both, neither. It doesn’t matter.” Pushing back from the counter, half-turning toward her, he said, “Are we done here or have you more gloating to do?”

For a moment, the old Morgana, haughty, fierce and fragile, seemed to light in Eleanor’s eyes. Merlin almost expected her to attack him for what he’d done, in this century and long ago. Instead, she pulled back, tamping down whatever anger lingered there.

“Magic has begun to return to the world. I know you can’t see it right now, but it’s a beautiful thing, a worthy thing. When you are ready, we would welcome you… although under some restrictions. No more hoarding of magical artefacts for one.”

Merlin wanted to laugh, brittle and filled with loathing at what he’d become. It was absurd that she was telling him that they were fine with him turning on them.

“I hurt people. I doubt very much they’d want me anywhere near them,” Merlin said.

Hesitating a moment, seeming deep in thought, she finally said, “No one died, although it was close in some cases. And admittedly, they and some of their families blame you. But Taliesin has vowed that no retaliation would be permitted.”

“Doesn’t matter. I can hardly feel magic anymore anyway.” Merlin stared out the window, watching the birds flying in amongst the trees.

“You have lived so long at the centre of a firestorm of magic. It blinded you to its power, like a brilliant flash of light blinds those staring into it for a time. But it will come back, Merlin.” There was that pity again in her voice. How he hated it.

“All my life, I thought I had a destiny. When Arthur died, the Great Dragon told me that he would return when Albion’s need was greatest. I’ve been through plagues and two world wars and unspeakable destruction and yet, Arthur never came back.” Closing his eyes a moment, unable to bear seeing the joyful play of birds in the trees or the scamper of squirrels chasing each other in the garden, he said, “It was all a lie to placate a grieving fool. So, I doubt I can help anyone.” He looked at her again, his voice flat and hard as stone. “You’ve come for nothing.”

Nodding, she said, “Do you love my brother?”

That was the billion-pound question. Merlin didn’t know what the true answer was. He’d loved Arthur Pendragon for so long and closed himself off to everyone else over the centuries, but Arthur Drake had shattered the walls he’d built around his heart. He wanted to cherish this Arthur and love him and always protect him, but Merlin knew he would be Drake’s ruin in the end if Merlin gave in. Merlin wasn’t worthy of any love, never mind that of a stubborn archaeologist with a cheeky smile and a journal full of inventive insults.

Finally, he said, “As much as I can love anyone. But he’s better off without me.” Looking down for a moment to try and stave off the tears that were beginning to well up again, he turned to face her again. “Morgana…, Eleanor, he’ll forget me soon enough. If he came back, he’d only be dragged down into the muck. Do Arthur a favour and find him someone worthy of him. And that’s not me.” He hoped that she’d understand enough to leave him alone.

“When I had dreams of Morgana, the one you killed, I could sense how much her hatred blinded her to what she was doing. I think your love for Arthur Pendragon has blinded you, Merlin, and your grief afterwards wouldn’t let you see beyond it.”

The fury that swept through him was unexpected. How dare she say such things.

“Go home, Morgana,” Merlin snarled.

She straightened up, lifting her chin as if to challenge him to a duel or perhaps acknowledging just how upset Merlin was. She started for the door, then stopped for a moment.

“One last thing, then. Did you ever consider that the Great Dragon was speaking in metaphors, that it wasn’t Albion the kingdom whose need was greatest but magic’s need and yours?”

The breath-taking cruelty of giving Merlin hope again was too much. Gathering up the dregs of his magic, his hand holding a fireball full of anger and despair that he’d not even remembered conjuring up, he shouted, “Go home before I do something we’ll both regret!”

Morgana looked at him a moment, understanding in her eyes, then turned and walked away. The door slamming behind her echoed in the distance and then he was alone.

It seemed like hours before he could move again. In his hand, fire raged and shrieked, begging to be used, but she was gone, and in the end, with an effort borne of exhaustion, he went into the lounge and dropped it into the fireplace, and watched it burn and burn.

And he wept.


	20. Chapter 20

Merlin thought long and hard about what Morgana had said. It didn’t make sense. If Arthur’s return were dependant on magic or Merlin’s needing him, Arthur Pendragon would have reappeared about two seconds after Merlin shoved Arthur’s funeral boat into Avalon’s mists.

No, even if Morgana were trying to be kind, even if she believed it, it wasn’t real, it wasn’t right. Even thinking about it just made him sink deeper into despair.

Merlin had to try and move on, somehow. Without Arthur Pendragon, without Arthur Drake, without anyone.

Merlin toyed with the idea of slipping through the Veil and disappearing forever. But he’d tried it before. Only the Cailleach, gatekeeper to the spirit world, had the power to let him pass and she already refused him once. He tried begging and threats and the idea that his would be the sacrifice to bring Arthur back, but she just turned away, and told him to go home and wait. He’d been waiting ever since.

And yet it was inevitable as the sun setting in the west that Drake would show up again. That he showed up on Samhain was another thing entirely.

He could hear singing in the distance and horns blowing, and then joyous shouting that always followed the lighting of the Samhain fires. The locals had lately taken to the old ways again at least in celebration, with dancing around bonfires and costume parties and children begging for sweets. Merlin’s manor house was too far for most, so he just sent cakes to the festival and they let him alone.

Usually, Merlin would leave out offerings of the last of his herbs and one apple tied to the front gate to placate the spirits, light a candle in the hope of his king following it home, and set the table for two. But Arthur never came.

This time, the gate was empty of offerings, the candle unlit, and the table bare.

Sitting in the lounge, watching the fire slowly dying, he was surrounded by darkness. He’d thought about seeking the Cailleach out again. She might have changed her mind in the last thousand years, but he couldn’t find the energy to move.

When he heard the door creak open in the hallway, he shouted out, “I don’t have candy. And if you are here to steal something, go ahead.” He murmured half to himself, “I’ve nothing of value left.”

“Morgs insisted that I come. She threatened my bollocks and I take her threats very seriously.” Arthur’s voice, Drake’s voice, startled Merlin into looking up.

In the doorway, he was back-lit so that Merlin couldn’t see his face clearly, then Arthur moved into the lounge and stood, arms crossed and scowling, at the far edge of the fireplace. 

Merlin wanted to run to him and kiss him senseless and beg him to stay. His heart was beating again, and he was sure he looked like a startled stoat or the idiot Arthur always accused him of being. He didn’t care. Arthur Drake was back.

Still, Merlin waited a moment to try and clear his brain of stupidity. Finally, he said, “Bollocks threatening should be taken seriously. I’m sure Eleanor has the knife ready, just in case.”

“She was sharpening it when I left.” Merlin looked at Arthur then, but when Arthur realised Merlin was staring at him, he looked down at his feet, refusing to meet Merlin’s eyes.

“Good move, then.” Merlin waited a moment, waited for a snarky retort, but there was only silence. Finally, he said, “Why have you come?”

“Things have changed.” Arthur murmured, then glanced up to meet Merlin’s gaze.

The pain Merlin saw there matched his own. There was confusion, too, and an acceptance of something that Merlin couldn’t even begin to know. Arthur looked like he hadn’t slept in all the weeks since he’d left. Exhaustion seemed to pull him down, and while Merlin wanted to hold him and promise that things would be all right, it wasn’t possible.

Instead, Merlin said, “Yeah, the castle is falling apart, and you didn’t believe me, and well….” Merlin shrugged. He was exhausted, too, but he had to know. “Did you come for the rest of it, the items you found?”

At that, Arthur scowled. The hard note in his voice made Merlin flinch. “No, of course I didn’t believe you. I mean, really, a thousand-year-old wizard from King Arthur’s time? What part of that should I believe?”

“All of it,” Merlin whispered.

Arthur let out a long sigh. Nodding, looking ashamed, looking as if he was still fighting against whatever was going on inside his head and losing, Arthur said, “Yeah, well, apparently, Morgs believes it, too, and Lance, and some of those Druids she’s hanging around with. I’d dismiss the lot of them, a cult maybe or just delusional, but….”

“But?” Merlin wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Too many times, he began to hope only to have it yanked away again.

Arthur began pacing the floor, his hands gesturing a bit as he said, “They showed me things that I can’t explain. I’ve tried everything I could to disprove their ridiculous claims about magic and I just can’t. And Morgs… did you know she can predict the future? How is that possible?”

“Morgana was a Seer and a High Priestess of the Old Religion. She had the ability.” When Arthur stared down at him, waiting, Merlin said, “It would seem that Eleanor does, too. She might even be Morgana reborn.”

“That’s a comforting thought.” Then Arthur’s eyes grew wide and he looked thunderstruck. “Wait, does that mean I… oh, God… ugh, sleep with her?”

Merlin wanted to laugh at the disgust in Arthur’s voice. Instead, he said, “That was something the French made up when they retold the legends. Morgana was Arthur’s half-sister, but they were never lovers. Mordred wasn’t their son, just some Druid boy that they befriended. But he did stab Arthur, and Arthur died in my… arms.”

With that, Arthur sat down next to him, not touching but within reach. Merlin watched him, drinking in the sight of Arthur’s face. He wanted to dive into his arms and never come out again, but he knew he no longer had the right.

Frowning a bit, seeming to be deep in thought, Arthur said, “And you waited all these years? For what? For King Arthur to come back? There’s no more Albion. It’s just a myth they tell the kids at school.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Merlin covered his face with his hands, trying to stop the tears that threatened to come pouring out. “I can’t… I’ve tried to die but I can’t. It’s my destiny to wait for him and….”

“Merlin, that’s… what kind of shit destiny is that?” Arthur sounded outraged.

“Apparently, mine.” Merlin looked up and gave him a watery smile, then shrugged.

“So you’re still waiting?” Arthur said.

Wiping his face, Merlin looked at him for a moment. Blue eyes so close to his king’s, blonde hair looking as if Arthur had run his fingers through it a dozen times, broad shoulders, that smile, even his rather Roman nose. So much like Arthur Pendragon’s, but yet so very different. 

“Yeah, for a while, I thought… you were… him, but now I don’t know,” Merlin said.

With that, Arthur surged up, and looking furious, looking as if he wanted to storm out of there and never come back, he snarled, “So I was right when I accused you before. That I was just some kind of King Arthur look-alike to you? Someone you could fuck with until the real one came back and then just toss me aside like garbage?”

Merlin was horrified. “No, never, it’s not how it was at all. I fought against giving into you, but you made it so bloody hard.” He tried reaching out, but Arthur jerked back. “It was you, not your looks or the way you laugh or the careful way you treat me but you. I do love you very much. For yourself, Arthur, not for any resemblance to him but for you. But it’s too late. I’ve nothing left to give.”

Half-expecting Arthur to stomp out and never come back, somehow there must have been something in his voice because Arthur just stood there listening. He didn’t look happy though. 

Finally, Arthur said, “So you are just going to keep waiting? Here, amongst the ruins?”

“It’s not like I have a choice.” Merlin murmured.

“Of course, you have a fucking choice.” The fury coming off Arthur was palpable. He started pacing again, his fingers busy combing through his very messy hair, clearly frustrated and upset.

“To do what? Leave? I can’t die, and even if I left with you and we started a life together, you’ll wither and die some day and I’ll be left alone again.” The thought of endless years without someone, without Arthur Drake, was almost as horrifying as the years he’d already endured. “I can’t… I… I’ve been so alone. So alone.”

Curling inward, trying to disappear into himself, covering his mouth with his fist to keep the anguish from escaping, it was too much, too much. He couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Merlin, Merlin, please, let me help you.” There was warmth around him, and Arthur was hugging him, his voice whispering into Merlin’s hair.

Somehow, Merlin twisted around, burrowing into Arthur’s arms, and held him so tightly that he’d be surprised if Arthur could breathe. Murmuring into Arthur’s neck, Merlin said, “I do love you but I’m poison. Everyone around me dies. You’d be better off with someone who can love you as you deserve.”

“That’s a lot of bollocks.” His hands cupping Merlin’s face, his thumbs brushing away Merlin’s tears, Arthur said, “Every couple has issues. So, if I’m in love with a thousand-year old wizard, that’s my problem, not yours.”

Merlin gave a little half-hiccupy laugh. It was so ridiculous that he just couldn’t keep it in. Finally, staring at Arthur for a long, long moment, afraid of the answer, Merlin murmured, “You believe me, then?”

“I’m not sure what to believe.” Arthur gave Merlin a fast kiss, then drew him back so that they were both sitting, arms around each other, facing the fire. Arthur said, “There’s been reports of magical events, unexplained, although the media is having a field day with it, and the governments, here and abroad, are worried. Some of my colleagues tell me there are even rumours of rounding people up.”

Sitting up, Merlin turned to face Arthur. After all, Arthur needed to know just what had happened and why it had all gone so wrong.

It took a moment but finally, Merlin said, “It’s all my fault. Did she tell you? I should have left well enough alone, they said. Magic would have flourished without me, they said. That I pulled in all the power in my desperation and hid it here, and there was nothing left but a few remnants. But… gods above, what if they’re right? I don’t know, I just don’t… know.”

Arthur reached over and threw his arm around Merlin in a tight hug, then let him go. But he kept one hand on Merlin’s arm, warmth and love in that grip, as if Arthur didn’t want to ever let Merlin be alone again. 

“We’ll figure it out in the morning. And then you can tell me all about Camelot.” Arthur gave Merlin a little smile, waggling his eyebrows, like some kind of comic villain from old movies. “And maybe about some of the digs you’ve been on.”

Merlin couldn’t help it. He giggled, just like the girl’s petticoat his Arthur was always accusing him of being. It was a relief from all the tears, a bit of hysteria that still lingered beneath his breastbone.

“I was on the dig when Carter discovered King Tut’s tomb.” And when Arthur stared at him, envy and surprise on his face, Merlin grinned. “And I knew Will Shakespeare. He was such an arse. But gods above, the man was talented.”

“Now, those are stories I want to hear.”

Arthur gave him a grin back and for a little while, everything felt a little better. As Merlin told him stories of old digs and famous lives, they sat there, watching the fire grow dimmer as the last of the wood turned to charcoal.

For Samhain, Merlin would usually relight it in the morning after or even days later if he was feeling particularly depressed. It was a time of old and new, of spirits walking the earth, the dead honoured and more importantly, the veil between the worlds opening.

Merlin would always get his hopes up then. If ever there was a time, Merlin thought Samhain would bring him joy in Arthur’s return. But after a thousand Samhains and the rest of what had happened with the Druids weeks back, it was just another dashed hope.

At least, Arthur, the Arthur of now, was there, a solid warm presence that pushed away the darkness in Merlin’s heart.

“So what about the sword? The one you took out of the tomb?” Arthur said.

Merlin glanced over toward it, still wrapped in red wool, looking unimportant on the table where he’d tossed it after the Druid ransacked everything else. Then he leaned back, staring up at the ceiling, watching the last of the firelight reflected there. “The sword. It’s Excalibur, forged in a dragon’s breath. I… it can kill anything, alive or dead. Even those with magic. I thought about using it. On myself. I’ve been so alone and sometimes it seemed I couldn’t take it anymore, and it would have been… a relief. And final.”

Arthur looked at him in horror. “Merlin?”

Shrugging, trying to pass it off as something that was no big deal, Merlin said, “But how could I? If Arthur rose again and I wasn’t there? All those years waiting and our destiny together?”

“You loved him that much?” Arthur was staring at him again, frowning.

“You have no idea what it was like. I gave up everything for him. Honour, my friends, a woman I loved, my magic, everything that I was. We… he and I were never… he loved Gwen, he married her despite everything, and I couldn’t… he never saw me that way, but I loved him anyway.” Merlin faced him, wanting Arthur to know just how things were for him, wanting him to see some of the anguish and hurt Merlin had been through so that he could understand that, even though they were joking and smiling, underneath it all there was such loneliness that sometimes Merlin couldn’t breathe. “In the end, it wasn’t enough.” 

“And if he did come back?” Arthur must have understood some of it. His voice was gentle, and the hand that lay on Merlin’s shoulder a warm reminder that he wasn’t alone.

But Merlin had to make it clear where things were between them. “I’ll always love Arthur. In whatever way he wants. As friend, as confidant, as the gadfly he always needed me to be. And if he wants me gone, that, too.”

“He doesn’t deserve you,” Arthur said. He was frowning again.

Merlin leaned in, his hand cupping Arthur’s face. “I do love you, so very much, but are you sure? It might be better if you find someone else to love. Someone not so… broken.”

Grabbing Merlin’s hand, Arthur turned a little and kissed the palm, then let him go.

In a very solemn voice, Arthur’s eyes steady on Merlin’s face, Arthur said, “Merlin, we’ve talked about this. I’m not thrilled that I’m second choice.” When Merlin started to pull away, Arthur grabbed him, shaking him a little. “No, don’t bother to deny it. It’s pretty clear that if Pendragon came back, I’d not be first in line. But Merlin, loving you isn’t a choice either. And I’ll take what I can get. After all, I’ll have my own wizard. At least for now. Is that magic of yours good for anything else other than tossing people aside and stopping time? Can you conjure up cake? There’s this little bistro in Paris where the cake is amazing.”

With that, Arthur smiled again, a tentative, worried smile that Merlin loved him for.

“I don’t deserve you.” Merlin said.

“No, I don’t think you do.” And Arthur gave him a very thorough kiss.

After that, it was a tug-of-war to see who would give the best kisses, to find out who could leave the other one the most breathless. They weren’t ready for more than that, not after all they’d been through. Merlin was still torn about the future, and it seemed like Arthur understood that by the way he touched Merlin and whispered some of those inventive insults that Merlin used to like so much. But then Merlin turned it around and began to quote Shakespeare, talking of ‘my lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand, to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss’ from Romeo and Juliet, and ‘it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken’ from one of the sonnets.

Arthur didn’t ask what had changed, but he went with it, quoting more and more Shakespeare until they were laughing as much as kissing. A duel of poetry and smiles.

Finally, in the dark, the fire down to a few smouldering coals, Arthur said, “It’s nearly midnight and I’m knackered. How about we take this upstairs and talk about things in the morning?” When Merlin nodded, Arthur said, “Do you have more of that tea you gave me to sleep? The dreams are getting pretty intense, and I’ve not had a good night’s sleep since we… I left.”

Merlin stopped a second, thoughtful. “The same dreams of knights and this castle?”

“You in it with that silly neckerchief and me running through woods in chainmail and riding horses and me fighting with that sword, the same one you had in the… tomb.” Arthur frowned at that, looking as if he were thinking hard and not liking the answers.

“Excalibur?” Merlin said.

Nodding, Arthur said, “It’s probably just because I saw the sword and it was all mixed up with what I was feeling about finding out about you and the magic. It’s nothing, I’m sure.” When Merlin just stood there, staring at him, Arthur put his arm around Merlin’s shoulder and started pulling him toward the hallway. “You know what. Forget about it. It’s not important.”

For a moment, Merlin resisted, then he said, “I’ve got to make sure the fire is out. I know it’s almost there now, but still, we wouldn’t want sparks flying.”

“Sparks flying sounds good to me.” He gave Merlin a heated smile, then with another squeeze, he let go. “But not tonight. I’ll wait by the door.”

As Merlin began to pile ash onto the glowing coals, Arthur brushed past the table, then stopping, he lifted up the red wool cloak, and looked at the sword underneath.

Merlin glanced up just as Arthur was reaching for the sword. Horrified, he ran over, putting himself between Arthur and the blade, Merlin’s hands up as if to stave off an attack. “Don’t.”

Stepping back, Arthur looked startled, then looking down at the table and the sword, he said, “Okay, okay, it’s… I know how important it is to you. It’s a fine sword, though.”

Tamping down the feeling of utter panic in his chest, Merlin let out a long sigh. Then lifting the sword, he said, “Sorry, it’s a reflex. It was made for Arthur Pendragon and him alone.” He tried to smile, to let him know that it wasn’t Arthur’s fault, and offered the blade, still half-sheathed in the cloak, to him. “Go ahead, it’s a beautiful sword and well-balanced. And embedded with magic. There are times when it sings. Or maybe I’m just imagining it.”

As Arthur took Excalibur in his hand, off in the distance, the bells began to ring, a soft clanging that seemed to grow and grow until it filled Merlin’s head with noise. Echoes of other times, other alarms, other sounds of magic. Samhain at the witching hour, when the veil between the worlds was thinnest.

It all happened so fast.

The air was thick with warnings. Merlin couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t speak, he couldn’t move. It felt like he was encased in crystal, unable to do anything but watch. Yet the ringing of the bells seemed to go on and on, building on the sound until it seemed the whole world was reverberating with it.

Arthur was standing there, holding Excalibur in the air. His eyes were golden for a second, and the sword itself seemed to shine with blue fire, the brilliance growing and growing until Merlin had to close his eyes to keep from being blinded.

In the next instant, Merlin was free, and he was reaching for Arthur, who was kneeling there, the sword loose in his hand. Behind them, the fireplace was loud with the crackle of wood burning and every candle in the room alight. Outside, the bells faded into silence. But Merlin didn’t care to even think about what it all might mean.

Arthur looked as if he’d been stabbed, all astonishment and disbelief. His hand was flat against his chest and he was breathing as if he’d been running for hours.

“Arthur?” Merlin felt bruised, exhausted. His magic was all but gone. 

And then Arthur stood up, the sword still held in his hand. He was different somehow, regal, his bearing as if he expected people to bow to him and not even think about it, as if he were a king and not some ordinary bloke with a degree in archaeology.

“Who else would it be, you idiot?” He scowled at Merlin, glaring at him as if Merlin were the one who was at fault. Then Arthur gave a little laugh, sending Merlin a look he’d not seen in a millennium, at once both amused and annoyed. “Although I’m not sure, no, yes, you are an idiot.”

Merlin should have been thrilled. He should have been over the moon to see his Arthur standing there at long last. After a thousand years, his king had finally come back to him. But all he could think of was Arthur Drake. The man he loved more than he thought possible even a few moments ago. The loss of him was almost overwhelming.

“No, it can’t be. No,” Merlin said, horrified at what he’d done. He should have never let Arthur near that sword, he should have kept it safe and him safe, too.

Looking puzzled, Arthur said, “You are acting stranger than normal. Did you hit your head on something or have you been at the mead again? I’ve told you often enough to avoid the tavern.”

“I haven’t been to the tavern, you arse.” It was a reflex, something they’d done over the years, banter and battle, and for a moment, Merlin slipped into it gladly. But then what had happened came rushing back to him, and a thousand horrors at finally getting what he’d prayed for over the centuries turned his heart into dust.

Fighting back tears, Merlin shouted, “Where’s Arthur Drake? What have you done with him?” He stepped closer, raised his fist to Arthur, who stepped back in surprise. “Bring him back. Bring him back!”

Arthur’s face softened, turned sympathetic. “I’m here, Merlin. I never left.”

“What?” Merlin couldn’t even begin to comprehend what this Arthur was saying. It seemed all noise and nonsense. And then Merlin thought about the false Lancelot and the changeling dominating Elena all those years and countless spells meant to deceive, and with that, he backed up a little, his hand over his mouth, trying to keep from howling with grief. “Who are you?”

Arthur frowned at Merlin, a look he’d often seen before when Arthur thought Merlin had been too drunk to function or else been through so much trauma that he needed more kindness than the old Arthur was capable of. “I’m Arthur. Who else would I be?”

“Pendragon or Drake?” Merlin shouted, love and black hatred warring in his chest. He wanted to hug his king and never let go because he’d come back at long last. And yet, he wanted to beat him bloody for taking away the only man who had ever loved him.

Arthur must have understood a little of just how desperate Merlin was. He said, “Merlin, calm down. Calm down. We’re the same, him and I, the same person.”

Waving his hands about in grief-bound frustration, Merlin all but shouted, “You can’t be. You never treated me like Arthur Drake did. He loved me. Loved _me_. Not like you ever cared. Yelling and throwing things and calling me an idiot. At least he was willing to let me be who I am. With you, one little slip and I’d have been frog-marched to the pyre or had my head chopped off without a second thought. You arrested me often enough or told me to keep my opinions to myself when you didn’t want to face the truth. He put me first, and with you, I was always last.” Then he thrust himself forward, growling out, “So don’t tell me you and he are the same because that’s fucking bollocks.”

All the while, Arthur looked more and more as if he had no idea that Merlin felt that way. It was insulting, really, that Merlin was of so little importance that Arthur didn’t see or didn’t care enough to notice.

But Arthur didn’t yell back, didn’t do anything until Merlin had run out of words. Finally, Arthur said, soft and sad and resigned, “Is that what you think of me?”

“I want someone who is going to love me, not use me up, then throw me away when someone more worthy or noble came along. It may be destiny, it may be fate that I’ve waited for so long to finally find out what I truly wanted, but I’m tired of waiting for someone to love me. I’m tired.” He looked down, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to keep from crying or exploding into more sorrow-filled rage.

“Merlin, listen to me. I do love you. I always have.” Merlin glanced up at Arthur, to see him reaching out and then his hand falling to his side when Merlin scowled at him. “It just wasn’t possible to show it, not in Camelot, but here, here we can be free.”

“You married Gwen, then forgot me half the time, or insulted me in front of her and the knights and sometimes the whole court. That’s not love,” Merlin snapped.

At that, Arthur straightened, for a moment, his fingers combing through his hair in obvious frustration. Then he began to pace in front of Merlin, all the while glaring at him as if Arthur thought him the prize idiot of all time.

“And do you think that if I told the whole court that I loved you, they’d welcome you with open arms? Even you aren’t that naïve.” Rolling his eyes, he stopped in front of Merlin, then scowling again, he said, “I did the best I could. I allowed you to insult me when anyone else would have been put in the dungeons or branded a traitor for insulting the king. I let you see me at my worst. I let you talk back to me without punishment. I let you touch me, and I touched you back as often as I dared. My God, Merlin, you have no idea how much I wanted you.”

“You never said anything,” Merlin half-shouted, so upset and exhausted that he hardly knew what to believe. 

“You were constantly blathering about something or other, and I thought it would all come crashing down if you knew. Besides, they’d have never let me have you, not in any way that mattered.” At that, Arthur grabbed onto Merlin’s arm, gave him a little shake, all warmth and frustration. “You saw how much grief I got when I married Gwen. I did love her, but you know how it was with you and me. Nothing more was possible, and I didn’t want to think about it because it would have driven me mad. They would never have accepted you. Never.” 

Merlin just stood there. One part of him loved that Arthur hadn’t let go, was still holding onto him. In a way, it reminded him of days past when his king would rough-house or ruffle Merlin’s hair or give him a one-shouldered hug. Merlin remembered how very much he cherished those moments.

But the other part of him wasn’t willing to let go of the hurt. He’d been so much a shadow of himself then, living like a ghost in Arthur’s life, and in the long lonely years since, he hadn’t known any better. Until Arthur Drake. 

“But if you were here, all this time, why didn’t you say anything? Why let me fall for him, you, both?” Merlin said.

Arthur let go of Merlin then, turning away for a moment, staring off into the fire. “I didn’t know. Arthur Drake could function in this world. I think I was aware, sort of, especially when we, he, I was young. But it faded away.” He glanced at Merlin, gave him a little smile, then said, “But now, I’ve memories of Camelot and of growing up in London. I can remember Morgs with her six-inch heels, and Gwen in her linen dress stumbling over her words. And you calling me prat, that ratty neckerchief of yours, the grouchy way you greeted me at the pub in town when I was gathering artefacts the first time we met.”

Merlin felt a brief spike of shame that he’d never told Drake about old Merlin. He’d never told Arthur, either. They hadn’t had time in that last desperate ride to save him. Someday, he’d have to let Arthur know the truth. Eventually.

But Arthur wasn’t done. “I loved driving you insane with chores that I made up just to get a rise out of you. Of course, I knew that there were stable boys to muck out the stables, but you didn’t know that, and I found it hilarious.” Arthur gave a sharp laugh, then he leaned in, close enough to breathe into Merlin’s ear. “I loved driving you insane with lust in a way we never did in Camelot.”

Merlin stood there, gaping at him, trying to come to grips with it all.

Arthur reached out then, watching for any sign of protest, then pulled Merlin into his arms, pressing him close, but holding on loosely enough that Merlin would be able to escape if he wanted.

Not that he wanted to. No matter who was holding him, Merlin still loved them, no matter what form that love took. Giving a little gulp of desperation, he buried himself in Arthur’s hug, trying not to enjoy the feel of Arthur brushing his cheek against Merlin’s hair.

“Merlin, it will be okay.” When Merlin started to shake his head, Arthur said, “Trust me, please.”

How he’d longed to hear that again. After all those years. It was almost as if he’d conditioned himself to welcome it because he stopped fighting Arthur and himself.

“So what happens next? If you are Arthur reborn, and Eleanor is so much like Morgana, and Lance remembering things he shouldn’t have if he wasn’t him, what crisis is coming that you are needed? And if World War II wasn’t it, what is?” He pulled Arthur closer and buried his head in Arthur’s neck. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Morgs seems to think it has something to do with magic.” Arthur tightened his arms, let his cheek brush against Merlin’s hair as he said, “I think it helps that I grew up here, that I was and am Arthur Drake. That way, I wouldn’t have to spend a lifetime relearning things and never really fitting in. And I know magic exists because we were always fighting it, you and I, and yet I can’t believe in magic because it’s ridiculous. You know?” He leaned in a little, gave Merlin a final squeeze, then let go. “My head hurts.”

Merlin brushed his hand across his forehead, trying to will the confusion and pain away, “Mine, too.”

With that, Arthur seemed to soften, become more ordinary, not so much a presence that could overwhelm but someone to have a pint with down at the pub. “Good thing, I’m here, then, my Juliet.”

“You do know that ended badly, right?” Merlin said, then scowled at Arthur when he nodded. “Besides, I’m not a girl.”

Arthur snickered, his face lighting a little. “I know. I’ve always known that, but it’s fun to wind you up a bit.” Then he turned solemn. “But I think if nothing else, you should forgive us, me, Arthur Pendragon for the past, Arthur Drake for the now, and forgive yourself for always. Because destiny is a bitch and it’s put you through hell and I think you need some time to just live. And I’d like it to be with me.” 

With that, Arthur gave another worried smile, and Merlin could see both Arthurs in it.

How Merlin wanted to sink back into Arthur’s arms and just do what he’d said, live. But there was a sword hanging over both their heads. A sword of Damocles, they called it from the olden days of myth before even Camelot’s legends.

Merlin said, “And Albion’s greatest need?”

“We’ll figure that out when we have to. We always have before.” Arthur seemed certain, as certain as he used to be when going out to fight a Griffin or some other monster, that sword and sinew and right would win in the end. “Do you think you can accept that?”

“I’ll try.” And for Arthur’s sake, for both Arthurs, he’d move the world.

Arthur smiled at that, then pulled him tight against his chest and gave Merlin a thorough kiss. When he was done, he twisted Merlin around, putting one arm over Merlin’s shoulder and started to march him towards the hallway.

Arthur said, “Good. Now we are going to bed and we are going to sleep until morning and then I’m going to be an arse and play with yours. Okay?”

“Do you even know how?” Merlin faked a little outrage, but inside he was almost giddy with the idea. It’s not something his king would ever say but Drake would.

Putting one hand to his chest, Arthur rolled his eyes, then scowled at him, a playful thing that quickly turned heated. “I’ve been doing you for months. I think I have a clue.”

Stopping for a moment, Merlin said, “Hold on, I’ve still got to bank the fire.” Twisting around a moment, he waved his hand, sending magic into the room, and the fire and candles went out.

Arthur grunted. It would seem he still wasn’t exactly used to being around magic, but Merlin could show him a few things that might ease his mind. “Magic can be used for more than simple tricks and nonsense, you know. I’ve found some things that might increase stamina and satisfaction that I’d love to show you. In the way of arse playing.”

Stopping abruptly, Arthur looked at Merlin in disbelief, and then growing curiosity. “Off the internet?”

“I’ve had a thousand years and I got bored.” Merlin shrugged, felt a little embarrassed by it, but then began to tug Arthur up the stairs. “I never brought it up because you didn’t believe in it, and the clotpole always hated magic and well, the way things were….”

Arthur was grinning when Merlin turned back to look at him. “I think it’s time for me, him, us to come to grips with magic. And at least, it would be enjoyable?”

“Oh, yes.” Merlin grinned back.

And then Arthur started running up the stairs.


	21. Chapter 21

Much as they wanted to, and it was pretty obvious that Arthur was game, they were both too exhausted to do much more than a few heated kisses and a bit of mutually satisfying hand action. At least they fell asleep in each other’s arms and that was its own joy.

The morning, though, was a different story.

Light came pouring through Merlin’s bedroom, and he woke to find Arthur curled around him, breathing into Merlin’s chest. Unfortunately, his bladder was full, and he did stink a bit. But as he tried to slide out from under Arthur’s arms, Arthur said, “I’m not letting you get away just yet. You promised me magic in the morning, and I might remind you that it’s morning. So hop to it.”

“Pushy clotpole.” Merlin leaned over and bit Arthur’s nearest nipple, then laved it until it was hard and peaky. There were satisfactory groans there, and Arthur was watching him, smiling. But then he sat up, and evading Arthur’s grasp, Merlin managed to stand by the side of the bed. “I need the loo and a shower. Unless you want stinky days-without-washing Merlin. Which I think you do not.” Merlin sent him a heated smile. “Perhaps you’d like to join me. My shower’s quite large. And I’ve enough hot water to last a lifetime. Magic is useful for a lot… of things.”

“And all that talk about arse playing and magic?” Arthur lay back, pouting a little.

Merlin just gave him a look, heated and hungry. “It’s easier to do it on a horizontal surface. I wouldn’t want you slipping and breaking something important. So after a shower and maybe breakfast depending on how eager you are, magic it is.”

With that, Arthur grousing about promises, Merlin laughed as he went about the business of getting ready for something he’d missed for too long. After the usual, while Arthur was still lying in bed watching him, the lazy sod, Merlin set out lube and a few toys he’d collected over the years within easy reach, just in case.

But it didn’t take long for Arthur to join him in the shower once the git realised Merlin really was serious about cleaning up. He even tried to sneak up on Merlin, rushing into the shower when Merlin was soaking his head under the spray, but Merlin just laughed, and shoved himself backwards onto Arthur’s interested groin. And before Merlin could say destiny, Arthur was taking him in hand and showing him just how magical a non-wizard could be.

There was something special about it this time, a joyfulness that came across with Arthur’s touch. They’d been lovers for a while, but while he was bold and passionate about getting Merlin off, this time was a tentative undernote to it as though he wasn’t quite sure what to do or if he’d be welcome. It was both exciting and tender in a way that Merlin had never experienced before, and he revelled in it. For a brief moment, he thought maybe the old Arthur was still concerned about their relationship, or that he’d not had sex with another man before – although he’d heard stories about camps and battle lust with the other knights. But Arthur Pendragon for all his bluster had been insecure at times in a way that Drake was not, and Merlin wanted to reassure him.

So he let Arthur take charge, let him do what he wanted with Merlin’s body, let Arthur know just how much he enjoyed it with groans and demands for more, and deep kisses.

Besides, if Arthur’s thumb rubbed across his cockhead just right, if he kissed his way down Merlin’s body and sucked the quite brilliant orgasm out of Merlin, who was he to complain?

Merlin did try to reciprocate but Arthur just shook his head, rubbed Merlin down with towels and exploring fingers, and insisted that he was saving himself for later. And that he wasn’t talking about breakfast, either.

Merlin shook his head. “Listen, cabbage-head, you sure you don’t want to eat first? I mean who likes to hear growling stomachs while swallowing a royal sword?”

Giving a little cough, looking like he was trying to be serious but having a hard time with it, Arthur said, “Royal sword, really, Merlin? After the invective of demands and rather ingenious insults just now, I’d expected better. I must admit being called the arse that launched a thousand ships almost made me laugh while you were shoving your _sword_ down my throat.” With that, Arthur flung a bath towel around Merlin’s shoulders and pulled him close, capturing him in flannel.

Not that Merlin was objecting or even fighting to get free. Instead, he just lifted one eyebrow, and said, “Better that than oh king of a thousand slimy socks. Or pootsac.”

Arthur choked a bit, then tightening his hold on Merlin, he said, “Pootsac. Did you make that up just now?”

“Maybe.” Merlin grinned, looking a little sheepish. “Okay, I saw it on reddit and it stuck with me. I mean really, who writes that kind of thing?”

Leaning forward, his lips brushing Merlin’s ear, he said, “I can think of better things to do than reading memes. I believe you promised me a bit of magic.” Then shoving a very hard cock up and under Merlin’s towel, Arthur proved just how ready he was.

With that, Arthur bent down, and grabbing Merlin, flung him over his shoulder. Wrapped up as he was, Merlin couldn’t really get free enough to grab Arthur’s bare arse, but he did enjoy the view as he was carried back into the bedroom and unceremoniously dumped there. He bounced a little, too, as he hit the mattress.

A moment later, Arthur was on him, biting Merlin’s earlobe, fingers playing with his nipples that were already over- sensitive, Arthur’s knee spreading Merlin’s thighs apart. He seemed almost frantic to touch every part of Merlin.

For a moment, Merlin just let him explore, as he had in the shower. In a way, he was trying to get Arthur to relax, to define the spaces he was comfortable in so that Arthur wouldn’t be so overwhelmed. Not that Merlin wasn’t enjoying it thoroughly, but it was almost as if Arthur was worried about what they were about to do and making up for it in dominance. And Merlin was willing to be under Arthur’s control in a way he’d never been in Camelot. For Arthur’s peace of mind. 

But when Arthur started demanding that Merlin show a little initiative, Merlin rolled him over, then sitting on him, leaning down and capturing Arthur’s hands under his own, he said, “You were always the bravest man I’d ever known, but listen to me, listen.” Arthur stilled at that, then nodded. “I’ve done this to myself enough times to know that it can get a little intense. If you are in any way uncomfortable or want me to stop, just tell me and I will. I’m used to magic, I am magic, but it’s okay to be afraid.”

Glaring at him, Arthur said, “I’m not afraid. How could you say that? I’ve faced magic before and won against it time and again.”

Merlin just gave him a look, one that spoke of ridiculousness and concern, too. “But it was always a foe, an enemy you could fight with sword and sinew. This will be something else entirely and I would understand if….”

Twisting his hands out of Merlin’s grip, Arthur’s fingers followed the line of muscle up, up, up into Merlin’s groin and settling there, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin. Arthur said, “Merlin, is this you trying to get out of it?”

Giving a little grunt, because every time Arthur touched him, it was like joy a thousand-fold over, still Merlin couldn’t just give into the git. Swallowing, trying not to lean into Arthur’s eager hands, Merlin said, “You are such a prat. I’m trying to… you know what, here’s the first taste.”

With that, Merlin lifted up and away from his grasp, much to Arthur’s protests, then kneeling next to him, gathered magic into his hands and whispered, “ _Acene færinge_.”

Above them were hundreds of gold butterflies dancing just out of Arthur’s reach. For a moment, Merlin just watched them glittering in the air.

But Arthur wasn’t having it. Rolling his eyes, he leaned up on his elbows and looked at Merlin as if he were an idiot. “Butterflies? Again? Aren’t you supposed to be the greatest sorcerer who ever lived? And you’ve had time to think of something new, right? Or is this a magic thing? Most sorcerers I remember conjured up fire balls or howling wind or something huge and dangerous and….”

“Gods above, you are such an arse.” Merlin scowled down at him, then pushed him flat, shoving his face close to Arthur’s. “I like butterflies. They are hard to conjure and fragile, too, and my mum used to love them.”

Swallowing, his gaze flicking down a moment to Merlin’s half-hard cock, Arthur looked a little embarrassed. “I’d rather not talk about your mum when I’m naked and about to despoil her son, thank you very much.”

Sitting back, Merlin thought for a moment, then said, smiling as only a predator might when spotting prey or when he was about to show Arthur just how inventive he could be, “I could conjure up dragons or maybe octopi instead. I’d read this story about tentacle porn that was….” As he was speaking, the butterflies were coalescing into one large very tentacly octopus whose appendages began reaching for Arthur’s cock.

Jolting back, pushing away suckers and feelers and lots of limbs, the octopus remarkably persistent, Arthur said, half-panicked, “Merlin, really? Can we just go back to butterflies?”

Merlin really shouldn’t have teased Arthur so much. He’d forgotten that Arthur, while brave and noble, was sometimes less sure about things, and this was his first time after all. Perhaps in future, tentacles shared between them could be fantastic, but for now, Merlin felt a little ashamed. With a wave of his hand, the octopus morphed into dozens of fluff-topped dandelions, dancing in the air around Merlin’s head.

Leaning over, he gave Arthur a kiss, a brush of lips soft and sweet, then cupping Arthur’s face between his hands, Merlin said, “Sorry, I got carried away.”

Arthur searched Merlin’s face, frowning a little. “Do you like that sort of thing?”

“It was a thousand years of waiting, Arthur, and sometimes I went quite mad. It’s just… it’s hard to describe. Sometimes I wanted more than just my hand, you know?” Sighing, Merlin let go, sitting back, trying not to think about all the lonely years and the things he’d done to keep from going insane with grief. Some things were not very pretty, and he certainly wasn’t proud of them. “But I swear on my life that my magic is always yours. Always. And I’d never hurt you.” 

Arthur must have seen something of the sadness in Merlin’s eyes because he sat up, wrapping his arms around Merlin. For a moment there was silence.

Finally, with his arm still around Merlin’s waist, Arthur said, “So what do the dandelions do? The fluffy stuff flying around your head.”

Giving him a tentative smile, Merlin said, “Hold out your hand.” When Arthur opened up his palm, one of the dandelions floated down to land in the centre of Arthur’s hand and burst open into a mist of gold, before sinking into Arthur’s skin.

Eyes turning black with desire, Arthur let out a soft, almost pained sigh, “Shit.” He was breathing hard, too, and his cock was already filling fast.

Merlin could see that it was having the desired effect, a shot of adrenaline and pleasure bordering on painful. “And that was only the first one.”

Panting, Arthur kept looking at his hand, then up at Merlin. “How… oh god, how long does it last?”

“Long enough. It’s not a timed thing. It’s meant to bring pleasure until you’ve had your fill.” Merlin gently laid Arthur down onto the bed, his hand trailing down Arthur’s side, past his groin, the crook of his knee and cradling his ankle, he gathered a second dandelion and gestured it into the bottom of Arthur’s foot. The gold limned his toes, then sunk in, and Arthur gave a little yelp.

“It feels… it feels like the sun is crawling up my leg and bursting there. And the first one is racing down and shit… this is… oh.” Arthur’s cock was leaking a little, droplets spurting out in time to Arthur’s heartbeat, and Merlin leaned down to lick the slit, trying to draw out Arthur’s pleasure.

“Are you ready for more?” Merlin said, then gave Arthur another lick.

Nodding, then shaking his head, then nodding again, Merlin could see the longing there. He knew it could be intense, but that it was worth it. More gold cupped in Merlin’s hand, then pressed into Arthur’s nipples, sparkling in the light.

Arthur arched up, crying out, nonsense words, but Merlin wasn’t done. He took Arthur in his mouth, his tongue busy with the cockhead, swirling around the sensitive underside, then pressed down, opening his throat until at last he swallowed him whole, his nose at Arthur’s groin. Arthur was begging, insults and pleas for more, his hands busy with Merlin’s hair, both pulling and pushing as if Arthur wasn’t aware of what he was doing but wanting everything, wanting it all.

With Arthur’s cock still in his mouth, Merlin’s tongue trying to draw as much pleasure as he dared, Merlin reached over, spilling the lube a bit, then coating his fingers, he began to thrust fingers inside, to open Arthur up, pressing and pressing until he found Arthur’s nub. There was another groan from Arthur, and Merlin could feel Arthur swelling, coming close.

But Merlin knew how to prolong the bliss. Magic was useful for more than just giving ecstasy. It could delay it, too.

Conjuring up a cage of magic around Arthur’s bollocks and the base of his cock, to prevent orgasm at least for a little while, Arthur giving a little grunt as it tightened, Merlin went back to pushing inward, his fingers rubbing against that sensitive spot over and over again. He didn’t let up for a second, wanted to see how far he could push Arthur into ecstasy before it became too much.

Arthur was shaking, sweating and swearing, his hands busy in Merlin’s hair, tightening his fingers enough that it was painful. But Merlin didn’t mind. After all, pleasure and pain were two sides of a coin, and he wanted it all, wanted everything from Arthur.

When he thought Arthur was far enough gone not to mind, he pulled his fingers out. Letting Arthur’s cock slip from his mouth, Merlin took a Merlin-shaped dildo, lubed it up and pressing another dandelion to the end of it, sunk the dildo slowly into Arthur until it was seated all the way in and let the magic burst inside.

Arthur’s eyes rolled back in his head, arching up as if trying to chase the pleasure, trying to escape it. Arthur cried out that it was too much, not enough, that Merlin should let him go, should never let him go. But when Merlin asked him if he wanted him to stop, Arthur just shook his head.

That was enough for Merlin.

With a thought, Merlin set the dildo to movement, shoving in and out, shifting as if it were Merlin fucking Arthur and not something mindless. But always, always rubbing up against that perfect spot, keeping Arthur on a cliff’s edge of bliss. And as he crawled up Arthur’s body, kissing and licking and biting down, swirling his tongue around hard nipples and Arthur’s throat, he put more lube on Arthur’s cock, then positioned himself above and slowly, slowly sank down onto it.

The burn was incredible but too full, not full enough, surrounding Arthur and being surrounded by him. Underneath him, Merlin could feel the dildo moving, and the way Arthur was pushing up and pushing back told Merlin that he was already lost to the pleasure of the moment.

Merlin began to ride Arthur, too, up and down, shifting in such a way that his cock hit Merlin’s nub with every thrust. Arthur must have been aware enough. His hand was busy on Merlin’s cock, curling around it just so to give Merlin a feeling of growing pleasure, Arthur’s other hand rubbing against the soft skin at his thigh and bollocks.

But that wasn’t why he was there. It was for Arthur, everything for him.

With that, he gathered the last of the flowers and spread them across Arthur’s chest and groin, watching them glitter in the light before sinking into his skin.

Arthur gave a little grunt, no more than that. But he was shuddering, his skin pebbled, his cock swelling inside to fill Merlin to the point of pain. His eyes were closed, but Merlin could see a little gold there as the magic did its work, of having Arthur lost in ecstasy.

After an eternity, watching Arthur helpless and soaring in pleasure, Merlin kissed him, his tongue thrusting into Arthur’s mouth. In the next moment, he let the cage dissolve, and the orgasm that followed, come filling Merlin up, seemed to last an eternity.

There was frenzy there, and groans and Arthur’s tears as he fell into rapture. And as Arthur shoved his cock into Merlin, chasing the pleasure, Merlin let himself fall into that brilliance, white bliss soaring through his chest, his mind, his body one lightning strike of ecstasy, before he lost himself in it. 

When Arthur was quiet again and Merlin finally regained what little was left of his mind, Merlin carefully pulled out the now-unmoving dildo, and set it aside. Then after wiping away the remnants of ecstasy, he laid down, pressed his head to Arthur’s chest and just listened to him breathe.

It took a long while before Arthur said, “I always thought magic was dangerous. I had no idea how right I was.”

In the next moment, Arthur was up, already putting on clothes, not looking at Merlin. His face was full of doubt, a deep scowl cutting into his skin, his eyes half-closed as if thinking hard.

Merlin began to panic. “Did I… I didn’t frighten you, did I? I’m so sorry, I thought… oh shit, I made things worse, haven’t I.” He got up, still naked, reaching out to Arthur but Arthur took a step back and looked at him.

“I need to think about this.” But Arthur didn’t run. He just stood there, watching Merlin’s face. “It’s been… Merlin, I’m still processing it all and this was, as you said, intense. A bit more intense that I’d expected. So, get dressed and I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” With that, he turned away, wincing a little as he did, then walked slowly out of the room.

Merlin’s worries began to mount. If he’d only been more circumspect, given Arthur a little taste of what he could do, eased him into the wonders of magic. But instead, wanting to give Arthur everything, he’d ploughed through it all, upped the magic, and scared him enough that he didn’t want Merlin’s touch. What if he’d ruined everything? What if he didn’t want to see Merlin again? What if his coming back meant that Merlin would be left behind — again? He’d told Drake that he’d accept whatever Arthur wanted, but that wasn’t really true. He wanted to be by Arthur’s side, no matter the cost.

He just didn’t know how to fix it.

Trying not to cry, Merlin felt the ache of a thousand years of waiting, old and worn out and a little angry, too. He did as Arthur asked, got dressed, and by concentrating on putting one foot in front of another and not thinking about what might happen next, walked down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Arthur had put the kettle on and was making eggs, although he was as bad as Eleanor had been. The eggs were starting to scorch. Merlin took the spatula out of Arthur’s hand, and nodded toward the little kitchen table.

In the next few minutes, they didn’t say anything. Merlin kept glancing toward him, but Arthur just sat there, sipping his tea and moving the eggs around the plate and staring out the window toward the ruins.

It was a bright day, the castle gleaming in the sunlight, and in the distance, Merlin could hear birds arguing, and the cry of a hawk high above. It would have been a perfect day for a walk in the woods, listening to the crackle of leaves underfoot, enjoying the sunshine before winter set in.

Finally, he couldn’t stand it any longer. Sitting down across from Arthur, Merlin said, “Are you leaving, then?”

For a moment, Arthur didn’t say anything, just took another sip of tea. As he put the cup down, he said, “Can any sorcerer do what you did to me?”

In a way, Merlin was furious. He understood just how fragile they were just then, so instead of a heated snarl, Merlin said, calmly, carefully, “You asked for magic. I gave it to you. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Answer the question.” Arthur was frowning again, as if he blamed Merlin for everything.

Swallowing hard, trying to keep the tears from clogging his throat, he said, “No, as far as I know, I’m the only one who can use it like that.” When Arthur gestured for more, Merlin gave a little cough, then sighed. “Fine. If you must know, magic can be used to take over the mind at times. It happened to me, it happened to you in Camelot more than once. But those are dark magic and there are always counter-spells. And in those cases, there’s no pleasure in it, only pain or fear or confusion, depending on the spell. Usually, when it’s over, the person doesn’t even remember it.”

His eyes narrowed, Arthur snapped, “I remember every second of what you did.”

“I wanted to share what I was feeling with you.” When Arthur didn’t say anything else, Merlin gave up. Shoulders slumping, wanting to tell the truth and knowing that it would sound bad but refusing to lie to Arthur ever again, Merlin said, “Yes, magic can be a weapon. As with all things, too much of a good thing is a bad thing.”

Seeming to turn inward, Arthur looked away, up towards the castle and then down at his cooling tea, not meeting Merlin’s gaze. “I can still feel it inside, the pleasure, the hunger. I want to do it all over again and it’s not even….”

So that’s what the problem was. Arthur was assuming that Merlin was still in control, possibly manipulating him with desire and the memory of what they’d done.

“Arthur, it’s not magic doing that. It goes away on its own, as soon as you climax. It’s designed that way.” Merlin reached over and grabbed Arthur’s hand and held it steady, almost willing him to look his way. “I swear to you that the spell is over. If you are feeling anything, it’s not my doing it. I would never do that to you.”

“Hmmm.” Arthur didn’t sound too happy about it, though.

Clearing his throat, Merlin said, “If you like, next time, you can direct it, rather than me. If you’d like to… you know, take control. I can… give it over to you… if you’d like.”

“You’d let me?” Arthur looked at him, surprise and not a little calculation in his eyes.

But Merlin met Arthur’s gaze with his own steadfast one. He wanted to make sure Arthur understood just how much he meant to Merlin. “Of course. I trust you with my life. And my heart.”

“I felt so out of control. Riding that high, I thought I might die there, and you pushing me off the cliff. And afterwards, when I came down from it, I wasn’t sure what to think.” He brought up Merlin’s hand to his mouth, then nipping at his wrist, and soothing the pain away with his tongue, as he leaned back, Arthur said, “All I know is that I want you. Still.”

Merlin felt as if the sun had come out and settled into his chest. “You have me, Arthur, now and forever. In any way you want. Anytime, anywhere. It’s always been you.”

Arthur was still a prat, still uncomfortable with emotion. Leaning back, he dropped Merlin’s hand, and began shovelling cold eggs into his mouth.

Merlin shook his head. In some ways, the dollophead would never change. “I’ve been thinking of what to do next.” Merlin said, “There’s been no indication about why you are here. I think I need to talk with the Druids and Eleanor, umm… Morgana, and find out why you’re back. She said it was because of my need, or magic’s need, not Albion’s, but I think she’s wrong this time.”

Wiping his mouth, Arthur said, “Albion’s need?”

“The Great Dragon told me that when Albion’s need was greatest, you would come again. But it’s way past time. After Hitler, I gave up. I mean if that wasn’t Albion’s greatest need, what the hell was?” Merlin couldn’t understand it even know. The world had turned so horribly wrong and yet Arthur had not returned then when Albion cried out for leadership. Millions had died and still nothing. So, what was Albion’s need, if not that?

“I don’t know, either. We need more information. But Merlin, I’ve watched you take on all the ills of the world and blame yourself for them.” Arthur said.

Arthur was wrong. In the end, it had all come down to his choices. Looking out toward the castle and the hawks flying high over the tower, refusing to meet Arthur’s gaze, Merlin said, “It was my fault. Camelot falling. I loved you too much and didn’t do what needed to be done back then. I still love you but what if I do it again? The Druids took everything and blamed me for magic disappearing, and they might be right. I keep making mistakes and everyone else paying the price.” Merlin turned back to Arthur, a bit of horror in Merlin’s voice as he said, “What if I muck this up, too?”

Arthur reached over, grabbing onto Merlin’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “If I’m the Once and Future King, then you aren’t to blame for ruin this time. I am.”

Merlin could see what Arthur was trying to do, but it didn’t make any difference. They both knew that it was Merlin’s choices in the end that would fulfil Arthur’s destiny and Merlin’s. He just hoped he was finally up to the task.


	22. Chapter 22

They let things go for a while. In many ways, they were both exhausted, from battle and changes in their lives and trying to think of all the reasons Arthur was back.

Arthur argued that Merlin should talk with the Druids, but Merlin was still ashamed of his relationship with them, and turned away, not wanting to start a fight when he’d just regained the love of his life and a purpose again.

But he did show Arthur more of his magic. He didn’t want him to only know battle and sex magic or creatures bent on destruction or the horror of mind manipulation, but gentler things, the joy of healing, how fruit could grow on branches winter-ready, the dance of sparks in the fire. Beauty in the magic of the earth and sky. And even more mundane things like laundry and cleaning and the preparation of meals.

Merlin didn’t want to admit it, but he was a lazy sod, and that hadn’t changed in a thousand years.

Once Arthur got over the surprise of Merlin doing chores with magic, he thought it hilarious.

But they knew it wouldn’t last. Nightmares returned, not for Arthur but for Merlin, things he could not remember when he woke, but they filled him with dread. It seemed to be coming to a head and Merlin knew it wouldn’t take much to change everything yet again.

Luckily, they weren’t entirely naked when Eleanor walked into the lounge. It was a pretty close thing, though, and Arthur had to turn around and scramble into his trousers while Merlin cloaked himself in the blanket they’d been about to despoil.

Arthur yelped, “You could have given us some notice, Morgs.” He still looked pained a bit, and it was clear that he was… excited. “God, you are such a pain in the arse.”

Rolling her eyes, and then looking up and down at Arthur, she just smirked as she once had long ago in Camelot. She turned to Merlin, mockery dripping from her voice. “Speaking of arses, I see you’ve become well acquainted with my brother’s. I hope his performance is satisfactory.”

“Morgs! That’s… that’s none of your business.” Arthur was sputtering, trying to put his shirt on and getting stuck in the sleeves, all the while trying to glare at her from inside the shirt.

Folding his arms across his bare chest, not even trying to hide the love bites on his neck, Merlin gave her a self-satisfied smile. “Entirely.” Then abandoning the game, he said, “What do you want Eleanor, or should I just give up and call you Morgana, Morgana?”

By then, Arthur was at least decent — he’d finally got the shirt on properly, but Merlin wasn’t about to accommodate Morgana, not when she’d just barged in. When the blanket slipped a little, Merlin just left it, ignoring the fact that he was practically naked in front of her. Arthur was a little more circumspect. He shoved a pillow onto Merlin’s groin, making sure that Merlin was at least minimally covered. But Merlin didn’t even look in his direction. His glare was fixed on Morgana.

Her smile grew wider. “Hmmm, Morgana will do.” She stepped closer, ignoring Arthur’s pained frown, and said, “The Druid leaders have been expecting you to contact them. Things have been heating up a bit and we could use your advice.”

Arthur handed him a shirt, and Merlin shoved himself into it, thinking while he did so about all the things he’d read recently, the potential issues for magical folk and what role Arthur might play in them.

Finally, Merlin said, “The fact that magic has suddenly become the internet sensation or that the governments around the world are scrambling to decide what to do about it?”

“So, you _have_ been paying attention.” Morgana sounded relieved, at least a little.

Of course, they’d been following the newscasts. Merlin had used his powers to try and delve into the consequences of each piece of information, keeping in mind that a single act might turn into a deluge, much as a pebble might trigger an avalanche. It was like trying to find a very pointed and dangerous needle in a haystack. Almost impossible and yet imperative.

“Morgana, I can feel the magic rising although I don’t have a clue as to what that might mean. There seem to be too many variables and I am… reluctant to interfere.” Rubbing his face a moment, looking down, not wanting to acknowledge that he might have bungled it in so many ways, and knowing that he needed to acknowledge it at least, he finally glanced up at her and sighed. “I hate to admit it, but you and the Druid council were right. I’d been a fool for far too long. I just hope it’s not too late to make things right.”

She frowned down at Merlin. “Then why haven’t you contacted us?”

There was accusation in her voice and the scowl didn’t bode well, but Merlin wasn’t going to lie to her, not now. Adjusting the blanket a little, he shrugged. “I thought I might not be welcome. After all, last time, there was considerable… damage on both sides.”

“Much to my utter dismay, they still think of you as something of an icon.” It was obvious that she did not consider him such, the distaste clear in the way she was frowning at him.

In this, he had to agree with her. “I didn’t ask to be an icon. I’m just Merlin. I always have been.”

“And the fact that they let you alone for all those years, that they still bend their knee to you after all you’ve done. That doesn’t give you a clue as to how much they revere you?” Her voice rising and hard, she looked like she wanted to beat him bloody. Her hands were curled into white-knuckled fists and she was leaning over him, a clear threat.

“Morgana, I don’t want to be revered. I don’t deserve it. I never have.” He looked up at her, his failures clogging his throat as he whispered, “I just want to protect Arthur and help him to be the king he’s meant to be.”

Her face hardened, a fierce scowl cutting into her skin, as she spat out, “And how well did that turn out last time, you fool?”

Arthur started pulling at her, getting her to turn toward him and away from Merlin, as if to protect him. Arthur snarled, “Damn it, Morgs, that’s enough. You’ve no right to….”

She jerked out of his grasp, and shoved her face close to Arthur’s, snapping at him. “Arthur, you have no idea what is going on out there. So forgive me if I don’t exactly want to listen to you prattle on about things that don’t concern you.”

Arthur wasn’t having any of it. “And you have no right to come in here and act like you are the only one worried. We all are. So back off, Eleanor.”

Arthur was always magnificent when something of his own was threatened. It was no different now. He stood over her, his hands up as if to grab her and shake some sense into her. He was every inch the warrior, and while there wasn’t a sword at his side, he looked as if he could battle the world and win.

Something must have gotten through. Morgana stepped back, blinking at Arthur first and then narrowing her eyes at Merlin, she said, “Well, brother dear, it would seem that we do need to talk. I’ll wait until Merlin is more fully… clothed.”

Arthur’s gaze slid over to Merlin, but Merlin wasn’t going to be intimidated by Morgana this time. He grabbed his underwear, shoving it on underneath the blanket, then stood up, throwing the blanket to one side, and stepped into trousers. When he was done, he said, “So talk, Morgana. Tell us what the council has decided.”

Her cheeks were pink, but she glared at Merlin as if she hadn’t seen him half-naked. Leaning against the sofa arm, brushing away at some imaginary lint, Morgana said, “They are still divided as to what to do. Magic has increased across the globe, but especially in this area. People with minimal skills are growing stronger, and new magic users are showing up every day. It’s almost as if once magic was no longer shielded here, the flowering of it became almost exponential.”

Arthur said, “Much like an avalanche or a plague.”

Morgana sent him a little nod as if pleased with his insight. “That’s what a lot of those in control of governments or bureaucracies or multinational oligarchs are calling it, a plague. Most think that if they can’t control it, they’ll suppress it, much as it was in Uther’s time. Or try to make money off people’s fears.”

It had been done before over the centuries. Merlin had seen more than his share of horrors, and the worst of humankind hovering nearby, ready for the kill.

Arthur must have realised it as well. After all, as an archaeologist, he would have studied other cultures, and history was full of pain and power. Frowning, Arthur said, “As any in power would do — exploit it for their own gain or destroy it so that no one else can use it.”

Sighing, Morgana shook her head. “The Druids just want any who have the ability to be trained in it and use it for good for everyone.”

This was what the Druids had always put forth, to be in balance with nature, to be willing to share what they had with all people. But Merlin wasn’t so sure it was the prudent thing to do. He said, “And you? What do you think?”

“I think the Druids and their allies are incredibly naïve. I can’t see powerful people agreeing to just let them alone. Not when there’s money or power to be gained.”

Arthur looked at Merlin for a moment, the worry lines in his frown deepening. “But how can Merlin help? He’s just one man, powerful enough but still only one. And I have no magical ability at all.”

She looked up at Merlin then, gazing at him as if he were a puzzle to be solved or a challenge to overcome. “Merlin’s theft of the magical relics was problematic, but he couldn’t take everything. After all, Stonehenge wouldn’t have fit into the tomb nor could Merlin shift any of the larger magical nodes centred in ancient forts and high hills to Camelot. Luckily.”

Merlin turned away at that, looking down at his hands.

She didn’t let up, though. “If he had, it would have been much worse. Magic is not meant to be concentrated at a single point. But at least with some magic remaining in the world, those with abilities were still finding their powers, but a lot fewer people and the potency of it weak.” She scowled up at Merlin. “Now, we need to know what to expect. A thousand years of little magic, and now with so many of magical ability appearing, it’s chaotic. There is only so much we can plan for with what had been written or passed down through oral tradition.”

“I don’t see how I can help. I’m not a leader, though, just a man making mistakes,” Merlin murmured.

Arthur reached over, and rested one hand on Merlin’s shoulder, giving it a little squeeze before letting go. “It’s not right that they expect so much of him. I’m sure both of us will try and help but really, Morgs, he’s not a superhero. He’s not someone to race in and save the day. He’s just Merlin.” Then he sent Merlin a smile, almost as if to reassure him.

“But he’s not just Merlin, is he?” She stared at Merlin, her voice hard and insistent. “He’s Emrys. With a thousand years of knowledge.”

Arthur wasn’t having any of it, though. “Eleanor, enough. Merlin did what he thought was right. Criticising him for it now isn’t going to help.”

Something must have got through because she turned to Arthur, her eyes narrowed. “He was there when magic was at its height. He has first-hand knowledge of how widespread it was, what training was going on, how many magic users there were in Camelot and the other kingdoms. Books and spells and how much the Purge damaged it all. How powerful people kept their people in check, whether there were ways of suppressing magic. Knowledge we’ve lost over the centuries.” She was snarling at Arthur by the time she was done. “So, don’t tell me about what Emrys is or isn’t because we need to fucking know before it’s too late.”

Arthur was about to argue with her again, but Merlin held him back. “Arthur, she’s right. They need information.”

“I don’t want her bullying you. That’s my job.” Arthur said, giving Merlin a quick grin, then turned solemn.

“I appreciate that.” Merlin reached out, gave Arthur’s arm a little squeeze, then turned back to Morgana. “I talked with my mentor, Gaius, about this once, when I couldn’t deal with all the death and destruction of Uther’s madness. He said that most of those with magical ability were low-level practitioners, you know, growing a few crops, healing small injuries, nothing major and certainly they did not have enough power to bother with training. Nothing to shake the world. Maybe ten percent of the population before Uther started killing them off?”

Morgana looked stunned. “Ten percent? That’s… staggering.”

“The number of people he killed was almost overwhelming, especially in the early days. In the Purge, people were drowned or burned in large pyres, several at a time, or had their heads chopped off in day-long execution queues. And Uther celebrated after with feasts and pronouncements. You have no idea of the horrors that he inflicted on his people.” Merlin had to stop a moment, remembering all those he’d seen killed. He still had nightmares about it. “He used fear and punishment and money to hunt them down and….”

“Merlin, breathe…,” Arthur said, his hand warm against Merlin’s back.

It took several seconds but finally, Merlin said, “Sorry, it’s… still hard.”

Even Morgana looked sympathetic.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out, Merlin said, “Those with greater abilities were much rarer, maybe five percent or less and those who strongly respond to training, even less, maybe one to two percent. He considered me unique, but I have abilities that no one else has. Stopping time, an innate sense of how the magic should go without me having any training, casting complex spells without words.”

“Thousands, then, unlike the few hundred we have now.” Morgana seemed shell-shocked. “That means that we’d better be prepared and soon.”

“The Druid council will need to come up with a plan to let those without magical abilities know that they have nothing to fear.” Merlin looked down at his hands, feeling ashamed of having caused so much pain. He should have been more aware. He should have listened, instead wasting all those years when he wallowed in self-pity and loneliness. Finally, he said, “When people believed in magic, it was easier to explain to them what was going on. And easier to spot those with magic. Uther saw it only as an evil, instead of what it is, a tool to a wider world. But now, because of my stupidity, almost no one believes in magic. They’ll put it down to science or trickery or a play for power or money.”

“In other words, we need to educate them. Or else it will likely turn ugly very quickly.” Morgana sounded worried, as she should be.

Arthur nodded, but he was thoughtful, too. He could look at it from a non-magical perspective, unlike Merlin or Morgana. “Or organise those with magic in such a way that the powerful will either see them as a big enough threat to leave them alone, or if the government or those in power try and exploit the situation, we’ll need to be aware of what they were doing to off-set it. Or else everyone with magical abilities will have to go back into hiding again.”

“That’s not going to happen.” Morgana’s face hardened. “Hiding isn’t an option. Not anymore.”

For a moment, no one spoke. From Merlin’s perspective, it looked a total mess, and one that wouldn’t end well.

But Arthur wasn’t king of Camelot for nothing, and while Merlin might call him a cabbagehead, he did have past experience, from ancient days and dealing with squabbles in present day archaeological circles to draw on.

Arthur said, “The three of us aren’t enough. I suggest that we confer with the Druids and anyone else high in the magical hierarchy and come up with a plan before things grow too dire to deal with.” Morgana looked startled at that but nodded. “Merlin, Camelot has always been at the centre of magic and while most of the relics are gone, still this place is soaked in power. You’ve told me so often enough. And I think they’d come to a place comfortable and reminding them of past glories and a future, too. If you invited them here, to your house, there is room enough for maybe twenty.” Merlin was frowning but Morgana looked at Arthur with interest. “Or isn’t this place big enough? If not, we could always rent a place in London.”

Merlin hesitated. After all, after his battles with the Druids, he wasn’t sure they’d welcome him back, no matter what Morgana said. But Arthur was right. Merlin had to help fix this somehow, and if welcoming them into his home was the first step, then so be it.

“Morgana, do you think they’d come?” She did nod, if a bit slowly and not all that sure of what she was agreeing to, but Merlin felt a little easier. “I’d be glad to help in any way. After all, it was my mess to begin with.”


	23. Chapter 23

Surprisingly, most of the Druid leaders and their allies came when invited. The house was full, Merlin found a long table and put it in the dining room to use as a conference room, left a ton of food and drink in the kitchen, and he hoped that things would go well. He didn’t think they would, though. There was too much bad blood.

Brigit was first to arrive, limping into his house and glaring at him before giving a little nod to Arthur. Taliesin was next, talking softly with Rhain and Olwen. And then more came, too many to recognise, cloaked in the greens and browns of the woods, they were tall and short, dark-skinned and light, all of them sombre. Merlin remembered them from the battle. Some were unscarred, some still nursing injuries, all, though, bright with magic.

Even Morgana showed up, although Merlin would have been surprised if she stayed away. She seemed drawn to power, for good or ill, and this meeting looked ripe for chaos and personality battles. Arthur greeted her with a quick nod and then pulled her into the kitchen.

For a while, people were moving about, looking at the house, at the winter garden, at Excalibur now hanging up in the lounge above the fireplace. None touched it, though, and Merlin was glad for that at least. But no one asked to visit the ruins and Merlin wouldn’t have let them anyway. The memory was still a sore point.

Taliesin called them to order as soon as the last of them arrived. “Emrys has offered us his house for the duration of this meeting. We thank him for his kindness.”

Rhain, tall and scarred over one eye, glowered at Merlin. Silently, his thoughts raged out, _“It was his mistake that brought us here. It was the least he could do.”_

Apparently, not every Druid was as forgiving as Taliesin.

“What is done is done. Now is the time to decide what to do next.” Taliesin said, staring at Rhain long enough that it settled him and a couple of others, still glowering at Merlin, into silence. “And I would ask that we speak rather than commune within ourselves so that all might hear.” He turned to Morgana. “Morgana, what news?”

“I’ve read the crystals,” Morgana said, looking around the table at each and every one of them. Drawing herself up, her face solemn, her voice was clear and decisive. “The next few months will be crucial to the Druids and those coming into their power.”

The room was silent as stone as she said, “We have three paths that will lead, not to slaughter, but peace between those with magical abilities, and the ne-dryas, non-sorcerers.” Nodding to Arthur, Morgana said, “One, as my brother suggested to me, we organise and show them that we have enough power that we cannot be picked off easily, but also that we are peaceful and no true threat to them, that we are here to help, much like a charity or non-profit.”

A few people nodded at that, looking as though it sounded like a good idea or at least intrigued by the prospect.

Looking the other way down the table, she continued, “Two, we partner with those in power, either in government or with one of the larger multi-national companies or charities that already have a network set up to serve a specific population, and form a symbiotic relationship to protect both them and us.”

Taking a deep breath, staring at Merlin, Morgana said, “Or three, we hide.”

There were objections to that, a lot of muttering and some were frowning as if it were a bitter pill to swallow.

Turning to Taliesin, Arthur said, “Unfortunately, in most cases, if you align with those who already have power, especially the multinationals, they will use your acquiescence to stab you in the back at some point. Or you stab them. Or you become tainted with power yourselves. And that is what they will expect, anyway.”

Rhain scowled at Arthur, looking at him with distaste as if unhappy that Arthur was even there. But he didn’t challenge him, instead said, mind-to-mind, _“Hiding is not an option, certainly now that more and more people are showing up with at least minimal abilities.”_

Taliesin just stared at Rhain for a moment, then said, very pointedly, “Rhain, we have allies that do not have the gift. Do not shame us before them.”

Then apparently chastised, glowering at Arthur, Rhain repeated what he’d said.

Nodding, Olwen said, “They will need training and understanding. They will need guidance most of all.” Then she turned to Taliesin. “And if we hide, they will pick us off one by one anyway once they realise how many of us there are and how strong we could become.”

Merlin hadn’t wanted to interrupt. There was enough bad blood already, and he wasn’t sure they’d want his input anyway, no matter what Taliesin said. But he did have insight.

“That’s what happened in Uther’s time. They couldn’t fight back because after most of the powerful sorcerers were either killed or fled, the weaker ones were easy pickings.” Then with all the hostile stares boring into him, Merlin looked down at his hands, and began to trace the lines of wood in the tabletop. “And there were collaborators, too, and those so afraid of what would happen to them that they betrayed their own to keep themselves safe.”

Rhain spat out, “You mean like you, Emrys? Afraid of your own shadow. Afraid to help our kin.”

Expecting that someone would challenge him on it, Merlin still flinched at the loathing in Rhain’s voice. And the man wasn’t wrong. Merlin had been, not a collaborator, but someone who stood on the side-lines and let Uther’s horrors continue, and then never challenged Arthur as king either. Merlin was very much to blame for it.

Yet Arthur rose to his defence anyway.

Turning to stare at Rhain, Arthur snapped, “That’s enough.”

“Is it? Or are we in this situation because he was a coward?” Flicking a glance at Merlin, then sneering at Arthur, almost daring him to attack, Rhain said, “A coward, then and now.”

As Arthur pushed back his chair and began to stand up, almost as if he were about to challenge Rhain to a duel or standoff or something equally as heroic but futile, Merlin captured his arm and pulled him back down.

Eyes fierce, scowling at Merlin, Arthur said, “It’s not true, Merlin. You were one of the bravest men I ever knew. Why would you let him get away with saying that?” 

Merlin gave Arthur a quick, sad smile and shook his head. Arthur really had no idea of what he’d done, and Merlin had been too ashamed to tell him. He’d told Arthur stories about things that didn’t really matter, that were funny or poignant but never about how he’d let the Druids and others of his kind down. Even now, he couldn’t think of Finna or Alator without shame.

Pausing for a moment, trying not to let sorrow clog his throat, Merlin finally said, “Arthur, he’s right. I was a coward. I loved my king, you, so desperately I was willing to sacrifice everything for you and it cost you your life anyway. And my weakness destroyed the lives of so many since then.”

“But Merlin, how can you say that? You faced bandits and Saxons and so many others. You were never one to run from danger.” Arthur sounded confused and still angry for him. Merlin couldn’t have loved him more for it.

Still he wouldn’t lie, not anymore. “I was brave for you, Arthur, but never for them. And I should have been.”

There were growls of agreement, up and down the table.

Finally, Brigit said, not unkindly, “So why are you here, Emrys? Why are you helping us now?”

“I want to make amends.” Merlin sent her a grateful smile. “I have power, yes, but I thought if I could….”

Impatient and hostile, Rhain said, “You thought to ingratiate yourself, maybe pay for what you’ve done. Be forgiven for your past mistakes.”

With that, Taliesin slapped the table, startling everyone into silence. As he stared at them, he said, “This is not helping. We are here to try and plan what to do next, not to refight the last battle.”

“Fine. So hiding is out,” Brigit said, then turned to Taliesin. “But there is another problem, helping those who have newly come to power. We need to be seen as trustworthy enough that they will come to us.”

Merlin knew she was right. Without some backing or some way to show that they were going to help those in need, it might be difficult. Someone with magic should recognise another as kin, or at least he hoped they would. But with those willing to exploit the innocent and Merlin was sure there would be many, it wasn’t always possible. Somehow, they needed to get the information out to a more general public, and that could be fraught with potential missteps.

Taliesin nodded. “If we partner with those already in power, with the ne-dryas, we will be seen as devious or else weak and therefore not to be trusted.” Rubbing his forehead as if already tired, he said, “And besides, I can’t see them helping our people learn to use their powers without trying to exploit them.”

Sighing, Olwen said, “Even if we could, do we have enough resources?” She looked up and down the table, many nodding as she said, “They would need training, a stable environment, a way to deal with family and money while they are learning. Otherwise, it could be overwhelming to them. And protection, too. Lawyers and politicians on our side to keep those in power from trying to exploit us.”

Morgana glanced at Merlin, then said, “As I told Taliesin, Merlin had indicated that before the Purge, up to ten percent of the general population could have low-level magical ability. That’s an enormous number.”

Rhain seemed in no humour to accept anything Merlin had told Morgana or anyone else. “Why should we believe anything he says? A coward that hides behind his name and his status. He’s done nothing for us in centuries.”

Bristling, Arthur snapped, “And did you help him when he was in need? Or did you just dismiss him without a thought?”

Merlin loved Arthur for it, but it wasn’t going to help the situation. One hand on Arthur’s arm to warn him to back off — he’d lost count of how often he’d done so in the last hour, Merlin said, “Arthur, don’t. He isn’t wrong.”

“You keep saying that, but everything I remember of you tells me a different story.” Arthur looked almost angry about it. “Unless it’s all a lie.”

“No, it’s not, but everything I did was for you and there was nothing left for anyone else. So no, he’s not wrong. Not from his point of view.” With a squeeze, he let Arthur’s arm go, then, ignoring the tension in Arthur’s face, Merlin turned to Taliesin. “As I told Morgana, those numbers were for minimal skills, and honestly, it wasn’t what I saw, but rather what my mentor said. He’d lived before the mass murder of those with magic and when Camelot had thrived under it all.” Still not looking at Arthur, he said, “If I’m mistaken, I do apologise.”

But that wasn’t good enough for Rhain. He sneered at Merlin, his voice rising as he said, “Doesn’t help us, does it? Your apology. You brought this upon us and now we’re dealing with your selfishness. For generations, we’ve had to hide, had to defend ourselves and where were you then? Cowering in your castle, like the craven you are, you gutless worm.”

Arthur looked like he was ready to kill Rhain. “Who do you think you are? He’s worth more than a hundred of you.”

Turning toward Arthur, Rhain scowled at him. “And who the hell are you? You have no place here. Not one iota of power, nothing but a mouthpiece for Emrys.”

“I am Arthur Drake, and Arthur Pendragon and the Once and Future King. And I’m Merlin’s friend.”

For a moment, to Merlin at least, Arthur seemed almost larger than life, a golden king defending his realm and his people. And around the table, from the mutters and side-long looks, it was obvious that some hadn’t known Arthur had returned.

Brigit said, softly, carefully, deferentially, “Arthur reborn, then. As in Arthur of Camelot and the golden age of magic?”

Arthur seemed almost shy about it, once he wasn’t arguing with Rhain. “Well, not so much a golden age as one fraught with danger and death. Magic was in the world but not welcome as such in Camelot. It wasn’t until he, I, died that magic was let loose. But by then, so Merlin tells me, it was too late.”

“So, the cycle begins again,” Taliesin said, murmurs of agreement echoing in the room.

Not giving one inch, Rhain glared at Arthur. “To what purpose? How has your returning done anything for us and ours?”

Arthur ignored the hostility. He must have realised that it wouldn’t do any good to go head to head with Rhain. Instead, he turned to the others. “We’re not sure. I’ve not discussed this with Merlin, but I think it’s to help you begin again.” Looking up and down the table, he shrugged. “I’m not a king, and never will be, at least not in this lifetime. And I was brought up to scoff at the very idea of magic and yet here it is.” Turning more thoughtful, nodding to Merlin and then Taliesin, he said, “It could be that I’m to help with everything not of magic, that as an outsider, I could see things that might get in the way of magic being accepted. It won’t be easy, though.”

“We don’t need your kind here, Drake, nor your help.” Rhain was not about to give in, apparently.

Olwen scowled at Rhain, then she said, in a hard, flat voice, “If we fight among ourselves, we have already lost.”

At least, Rhain seemed to take the rebuke to heart. He shut up, glowering first at Merlin, then nodding to Olwen.

Taliesin waited a moment, looking each person in the eye before saying, “Agreed. We cannot hide and it sounds like we cannot align ourselves with the powerful ne-dryas. Our only option is to make our own way.”

“And arise from the ashes like some great phoenix. How the hell can we do that?” Rhain said.

“We need shelter, teachers, protection, systems in place if we are going to help those in need. And all done with nature’s balance and an acceptance that we must all do our part.” Olwen was at least focused on results, even if she did occasionally send a hard frown Merlin’s way.

Starting from scratch sounded almost overwhelming. Of course, Arthur got to the heart of things. “Have you an organization that could do that? I’m not up on Druidic groups, but surely you have one capable of expanding.”

Some rolled their eyes at Arthur’s question, but Taliesin said, in a kinder, more understanding voice, “We do not manage things in that way. We are of the earth and sky, seeking peace and tranquillity in an ever more chaotic society. We come together for festivals and celebrations of life and the oneness of the universe. To deal with expansion and organization in that sense is almost beyond us.”

“Well, you better get there quickly because otherwise, your people are ripe pickings.” Arthur frowned at them a moment, looking a bit confused. “I’m surprised you even came for Merlin’s things. That must have taken coordination surely.”

Apparently Rhain wasn’t willing to let his anger go. “Magic is dying, and he is the cause. Do you think we’d have bothered with him otherwise? He is nothing to us. An icon among us but without meaning.”

At that, several voices rose in protest, a cacophony of sound, swirling around the table, echoing off the walls, making Merlin wince in embarrassment. He’d often told Arthur that he didn’t want to be an icon, that he didn’t deserve it. That he was being accused of accepting it, perhaps even wanting it, made him both angry and sad. 

Finally, Olwen turned to Rhain, her voice flat and unyielding. “Your bitterness muddies the waters, Rhain. Perhaps you should seek peace among the sacred trees in the Valley of Fallen Kings.”

Rhain seemed taken aback, at least for a split-second, then he shook his head. “Or perhaps I should remain and make sure you don’t bow before Emrys again. Isn’t that the reason we have this issue in the first place?”

Taliesin wasn’t having any of it. “Olwen is right, Rhain. Your resentment does you no credit. I thought you would bring some insight into the problems we face, but this attack on Emrys isn’t helping.” Before Rhain could say anything else, Taliesin turned to Morgana. “You and only you have accessed the crystals. Only you can decipher their meaning and guide us to the best solution among the many choices we have. What do you suggest?”

Morgana nodded once, slow and regal as if bowing to Taliesin. “I only saw bits and pieces, nothing concrete but Emrys is at the centre of it. There was a tall tower. A sword lit in blue flame and the midwinter sun rising over Stonehenge as magic flowed through us all. And finally laughter and song. If we come together and choose wisely, it seems all will be well.”

Brigit spoke up, “Emrys is your brother’s lover. Won’t that colour your perception of the vision?”

For a moment, Morgana just stared at Brigit, then said, “A lifetime ago, Emrys and I were mortal enemies. And I hated Arthur Pendragon. I made sure he died in agony and rejoiced in it. My loyalty is with the Druids, no matter how much I love my brother now.”

To Merlin, it wasn’t surprising, although Arthur looked very unhappy to hear it. It was very likely there would be a long, heated conversation after the meeting if the flush on Arthur’s face was any indication.

But Taliesin just nodded, as if family squabbles had no place there. “We’ll need to set up training and places for those coming into power to gather.”

At least Arthur wasn’t going to confront Morgana with so many eyes watching them. Instead, he said, “It wouldn’t be a good idea to have them all in one place. It would become too big a target. But the group can’t be too small either. Have you locations in mind?”

Taliesin looked at Arthur for a moment as if judging him, then said, “There were places of refuge in the olden times, close to the earth, near the sacred groves, full of life and magic. At least in the beginning, it should be enough.”

Arthur had experience with strategy, and he took charge, at least for the moment. “You’ll need a way to coordinate and plan how people can find you once they’ve discovered that they have magic. Again a central location would be efficient, but I’m not sure it wouldn’t bring out the jackals, too. Unless you had a way of dealing with those?” Looking up and down the table, almost gathering every eye to him, Arthur said, “Most governments and large organizations like to deal with one agency. There are disadvantages, too, but if it were large enough, they’ll back off, at least initially. But that might give you enough time to consolidate power to fend off any jackals, large and small, who would try and hurt those with the gift.”

With Arthur there to back him up — frankly the hostility was getting to him, Merlin relaxed a little. “I can help with that. I’ve businesses that deal in logistics and organization, charities mostly, but some larger than others. If…”

But suspicion was still there. Rhain interrupted, using mind-speech again, _“We don’t want your charities, nor your organization.”_

“Rhain, enough. You do us no service with this.” Waiting a moment, glaring at Rhain until he looked away, Taliesin turned then to Merlin. “I don’t know how we would pay for it, anyway. We could use false currency tinged with magic, but that would defeat our purpose.”

Merlin relaxed, knowing that it would not be a problem. Smiling, he said, “That’s easy. I’ve money set aside for Arthur’s return.”

Sending him a look of disbelief, Arthur said, “It could take millions. You live comfortably but I doubt you have that much.”

“I’ve enough. I’ve lived a thousand years and there’s such a thing as compound interest, you know. A few coins here and there can add up.” When Arthur just rolled his eyes, Merlin said, a bit tartly, “I’m smarter than I look.”

The glare Arthur sent him was one he’d perfected over the years they’d been king and manservant, when he thought Merlin was being an idiot and Arthur had put up with Merlin making a fool of himself too many times to count. “Merlin, don’t be ridiculous. A few coins won’t be nearly enough. It would bankrupt you.”

And then Merlin realised that he’d never told Arthur the truth about his money, not that he thought it would make a difference, but he did wish he’d have told Arthur sooner. It was a little embarrassing to just blurt it out in front of almost strangers.

“Umm, Arthur, four hundred and thirty-five… umm,” Merlin mumbled. He could feel his cheeks heating, and he bit on his lower lip, a nervous habit he’d never really lost.

Arthur sent him a look that spoke volumes about how much he thought Merlin was a cabbagehead, but instead of voicing it, Arthur said, “That’s enough for a small house but certainly not in London. Maybe out here, though.”

His cheeks felt hot, and he wanted to hide, but instead, he straightened up, knowing he’d had to face Arthur sooner or later about it anyway, Merlin said, “Umm, four hundred and thirty-five _million_ pounds, give or take, depending on the market.”

Arthur’s mouth opened and he looked like a fish gasping for air. “What?!”

The rest of them were silent, their stares a combination of hostile and speculative and relieved.

But it was Arthur’s reaction that was important. His opinion was all that mattered.

Taking a deep breath, shrugging his shoulders a little as if to say that it wasn’t that bad, Merlin said, “It’s not all in cash. I’ve several businesses. Victor is the real whiz. I just tell him how the markets are going, and he takes care of the rest.” When Arthur stared at him, not saying anything, Merlin grew a little impatient. “I told you, I own the castle and the grounds here and the town, too. Didn’t you think how much that costs?”

That woke Arthur up. “It never occurred to me.”

With everyone else staring at him, it would seem it hadn’t occurred to them either. Finally, Taliesin said, “And are you willing to help, Emrys?”

Merlin nodded. “In any way I can. With magic or money or anything else in my power.”

“This is ridiculous. How can you believe anything he says?” Rhain wasn’t having it. He sent Merlin a glare that spoke of long arguments and anger.

But as Taliesin let out a long sigh, the rest of them quiet, Morgana said, loud and flat, “It’s not what he says but what he does. As with everyone here.” And with that, she looked around the table, nodding to each of them in turn. “I suggest we break up into smaller groups, each one to solve a single problem, and then come together and make this work. For all our sakes.”

There was a break, some moved into the kitchen for food and drink before starting again, and Arthur used the time to yank Merlin into the study. He seemed a little upset.

“I thought your uncle owned the property,” Arthur said. “And the money, bloody hell, that much?”

Merlin shrugged. “Arthur, think about it. I’ve lived a thousand years. Where would I get an uncle?” He hoped it might be okay, but when Arthur’s eyes narrowed, clearly miffed, Merlin said, “It was me in disguise, okay. Dragoon, too, just so you know.”

“Dragoon, the old sorcerer?” Arthur had gone from miffed to glaring daggers at Merlin. “Wait, you kicked me. I’m not a horse, you arse.”

Grinning, Merlin said, “You were a great horse. And a donkey, too. Remember…”

“Let’s not remember that, Merlin.” Arthur said, sending him a look that spoke of revenge at some point. Then as Merlin just stood there, one eyebrow raised as Gaius might have done, Arthur gave a little laugh. “Only you.”

“Well, you were being a prat. I had to get back a little of my own,” Merlin said. “You threw a goblet at me every day.”

“I missed, didn’t I?” Arthur gave a little laugh. “On purpose, I’ll have you know.”

“I was very good at ducking, I’ll have you know.” Merlin said.

Arthur laughed at that, then turned solemn, “That’s a hell of a lot of money. Had I known… just think of how many digs we could…”

“I’ll not be your Lord Carnarvon. It ended badly.” Merlin stood there, his arms across his chest, growing stubborn because Arthur was being an idiot.

Arthur waved that little fact aside. “That’s just a myth. Carnarvon didn’t die from elementals or a curse. It was pure blood poisoning.”

“Arthur, no.” Merlin couldn’t believe he was even having this argument, certainly not with a whole horde of magic users in the next room.

With that, Arthur waved his hands in the air. “Sometimes you are such a bubble-headed carbuncle.”

Merlin tried not to laugh. “Is that something you made up?”

The grin on Arthur’s face was enough to relax what had been a very tense situation. Merlin reached out and pulled Arthur to him, then gave him a long, lingering kiss.

“Yeah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” Arthur said. “But with that kind of reward, I’ll have to try harder next time. Something to get you into bed.”

“You don’t need insults for that.” Merlin drew a little spark dragon into the air, then let it disappear slowly. “For later.” A promise made, Merlin gave Arthur another kiss.

Before they went back into the dining room to see what they could do, Taliesin took Merlin aside, then he said, “Emrys, I must apologise for Rhain. He’s… his wife was hurt quite badly when we came here. For a time, we thought she might not live and even now, it’s been hard on him and her with her recovery. I would ask that you forgive him his hostility.”

Merlin looked over to see Rhain glaring at them both. But once he realised what was going on, Merlin couldn’t help but see the pain in his eyes.

Turning back to Taliesin, Merlin said, “There was hurt on both sides. I never meant to harm anyone and had I to do it over again, I would have done things very differently.”

Taliesin nodded, a look of understanding and forgiveness in his eyes.

Merlin leaned in, whispering, “If there is anything I can do to help, please let me know. My skills as a healer aren’t the best, but if you need me, I would try for her sake and his.”

Taliesin reached over, gripping Merlin’s arm a second, then let go. “Thank you, Emrys. If we have need of you, I will let you know.”


	24. Chapter 24

For the most part, the afternoon went a little better than the morning’s meeting. Because the groups were smaller and most of them knew each other and their weaknesses and strengths well, there was less arguing and more cooperation.

At least they had experience with people coming into their own so teaching was already ingrained in their community. Administration was less so. They were rooted in the earth and sky, being one with nature, and trying to balance their lives in all things.

Logistics and policing of their own seemed to baffle them, though, especially when Arthur would bring up questions that they hadn’t thought of or were unsure of what he was talking about. It didn’t help that Morgana was in the same group as Arthur.

Not that Merlin heard a lot of what was going on there. His group was focused on plans for training for those who had not been brought up in the Druid tradition and how to approach those fearful of their gift.

But when Morgana started arguing with Arthur about the use of force, things got a little loud in their corner of the room.

“Eleanor, you have to have some way of dealing with people who are using magic for their own ends,” Arthur said, scowling at her. “You can’t just let anyone go off and do their own thing. Especially if it’s against the law. Especially if they are using dark magic.” When she narrowed her eyes at him, looking ready for a fight, he said, “And don’t tell me your people won’t do that. Hell, you did.”

Merlin could almost feel the fury in the air. Around him, the rest of the room grew quiet.

Morgana snapped back, “And you executed them for it. And don’t tell me you didn’t because I was there, remember?”

“I made mistakes, a lot of them. And so did you. Murdering those without magic, innocents that should never have….” Arthur was scowling at her, his fists clenched on the table. He looked ready for battle.

So did Morgana. She slapped her hand down hard, the sharp sound echoing. “They weren’t innocent. They stood by while we were being killed, just because we had magic.” As she turned toward him, her chin up, taunting him, her voice grew vicious. “Do you think we forgot what you did? Do you think we were going to let you just….?”

Taiesin was suddenly there, hovering over them both. He said, softly, obviously trying to quell the animosity, “Morgana, Arthur, enough. We cannot change the past, we can only learn from it.”

Morgana turned toward him, nodding once. “Taliesin, I understand that, I do, but my brother is blind to the prejudices we face every day. And the ones we will face in future could be enormous. We have to make sure that our people are safe.”

Arthur shook his head. “But not at the expense of innocents.”

Whipping around, Morgana snarled, “We are all innocent.”

That only made Arthur louder, more impatient. “Are you? Because people who don’t know about magic will see the potential for an abuse of power they can’t see or touch or fight against.” Nodding up to Taliesin, Arthur said, “So we have to put something in place to show them that we can be trusted. Every time.”

It didn’t go unnoticed that Arthur was including himself in that. Merlin just hoped that Morgana wasn’t too stubborn to see it.

“We can be trusted,” Morgana said, voice still hard. Apparently, she’d rather win an argument than the war.

But then, Arthur could be just as obstinate. “But they don’t know that.”

Glaring at him, Morgana said, “You have no understanding of what we’ve been through. You are blind to….”

Throwing his hands up in the air in clear frustration, Arthur said, “Then help me to see. Because right now, all you are telling me that it’s okay for someone to go off and use their powers without restraint.” He looked around, catching the eyes of several of the Druids, as he said, “And that will lead to fierce blowback. Maybe even subjugation of your people.” Turning back to Morgana, he leaned forward, putting his hands on the table and splaying his fingers out as if to restrain himself from doing something he’d regret. “Eleanor, you know how it goes. Every time. We need some way to head it off before it’s too late.”

“And that means your way or none at all?” Morgana always knew how to push Arthur into anger. Now was no exception.

“That’s not what I’m saying, and you know it.” Arthur’s face flushed as he said, “If you don’t have some system in place to restrain those who break the law or hurt someone, then you’ve lost. Because the non-magical will come after you, all of you, and it will be the Purge all over again.”

“And are you going to lead the way?” Morgana spit out.

For a moment, there was a stillness, the whole room holding their collective breath, then Arthur stood up, his chair scrapping the floor, sounding as if it were a call to arms. 

Arthur said, soft and low and furious. “How dare you say such a thing. You know me better than that. You know that I’d never do that.”

Then he stalked off toward the kitchen, the door closing hard behind him.

No one said a word.

Then Morgana stood up and followed Arthur into the kitchen.

Merlin couldn’t let it continue. Sometimes those two could both be stubborn as hell. Sometimes Merlin thought that they didn’t even really know what they were fighting about, that they were just arguing for the sake of winding each other up. Gods above, Arthur did love to do that at times with Merlin, too. Merlin had to wonder if it was a Pendragon trait.

Taliesin looked unsure, but Merlin nodded to him, and followed the two idiots into the kitchen.

Arthur and Morgana were yelling at each other, the volume increasing with every second. He did think about letting them sort it out between them, but if things got bad, he would step in. The issue did need to be settled at some point.

Leaning against the doorway, Merlin had a clear view of Arthur’s flushed face and Morgana looking pale and annoyed.

“What the bloody hell was that, Eleanor?” Arthur was not happy. “You think so little of me that you’d dismiss me like garbage in front of them like that.”

Morgana wasn’t letting Arthur be the loudest in the room, though. “What did you expect me to say? I have to protect them, and you are the enemy after all.”

Arthur was waving his arms about, too, as if he couldn’t get rid of his anger fast enough.

“I am not your enemy,” Arthur shouted. “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m trying to help them.”

Morgana leaned in, scowling, her forehead cut deep with lines of fury. “Your kind has been hunting us for centuries. You yourself oversaw dozens of executions. You led raids on Druid encampments, you watched as children and old people and pregnant women were put to the sword. Did you think you’d be welcomed with open arms just because you’re the Once and Future?” Her eyes narrowed. “Only recently has the attitude towards those of magic turned to ridicule and benign neglect, but the scars run deep, Arthur, very deep.”

If anything, it only made things worse. Arthur looked ready to throttle her. His hands were fisted, his eyes blazing.

Arthur snarled out, “I can tell you right now that if you and they keep up that attitude, they’ll lose everything. They need allies, non-magical ones, and if they turn down my help just because they resent it or are fearful of it, then heaven help them when the powerful and well-connected realise just what a threat they are.” With that, Arthur stepped back, shaking, drawing a hand through his hair as if to erase the stupidity he must have thought of it all. “For fuck’s sake, Eleanor, you’re in business. You’ve dealt with politicians, too. You know how cut-throat people can be. Do you really think they don’t need my help? Or Merlin’s?”

She wasn’t above waving her hands around, too. Looking at him as if he were a cabbagehead, she said, “Of course, they need your help. But making it sound like all we do is evil… fuck, Arthur, you made it sound like we deserved to be locked up for being who we are.”

“That was never my intent.” Arthur let out a breath, then after a long moment, sounding a lot calmer, he said, “Look, if you don’t come up with a set of laws and ways of dealing with the law-breakers, then it won’t work. Because the powers-that-be will only see you as a threat. And if they dismiss my suggestions just because I’m not magical, then they are as bad as they assume us to be.”

Morgana must have realized that she was a bit wrong, too, because she said, “Give them time. They’ve only just met you.”

Arthur nodded, but he looked very unhappy about the whole thing. Finally, he said, “Then back me up or I’m done.”

No longer needed, Merlin slipped back out into the dining room and sat down.

A few moments later, Arthur and Morgana came back, then slid into their seats. They were both still flushed with the remnants of their argument but seemed to have come to some kind of truce because Morgana said, “Arthur has explained to me a little of his reasoning and I agree with it. He may be my brother and sometimes annoying as hell, but his heart is in the right place.” With everyone looking on, she said, “We should get back to the issues at hand. Sorry for the interruption.”

And with that, the room seemed to grow noisy again, Druids could be terrible gossips, but it seemed to make things go more smoothly after that.

By the day’s end, they had come up with a plan for renting several houses near the centres of magic. They also discussed teaching and emotional support for those coming into their power and their families. More importantly, they decided that, for the moment, they did indeed need a centre for administration and disbursement of assignments, and, further down the road, pushback for any trouble from governments or groups willing to exploit them. They also agreed to come up with a set of rules and consequences for breaking those rules, although that would need several more meetings among the Druids.

But when Arthur suggested that they rent offices in London for coordinating their group, he was voted down, rather forcefully. Morgana suggested that they choose something closer to Stonehenge, a place long associated with the Druids, and offered her services to find something. They accepted without reservation. It was clear that they’d rather listen to someone of their own kind, rather than a ne-dryas. Arthur tried to take it in stride, but Merlin could see he was unhappy.

As for a name for this thing they were trying to set up, there was arguments back and forth, and finally Morgana agreed to consult the crystals and get back to the group for a final vote.

With that, the sun set, and the meeting broke up, many things still undecided.

But there was nothing Merlin could do. And Arthur, leader though he could be, seemed destined to be side-lined, just because he didn’t have magic.

Trying to play the perfect host, Merlin stood on the front step, watching the last of the Druids walk away after the meeting broke up. Arthur and Morgana stayed behind, ostensibly to talk. As he went back inside, they were still arguing. 

Shaking her head, glaring at Arthur, she said, flat and annoyed, “Of course, I know they need your help. But if I told them that, they’d have dismissed my advice, too.” Then she stepped back, glancing out the window a moment, before turning back to Arthur. “They are a bit hide-bound. But they will come around eventually. I’m sure of it.”

Arthur cleared his throat, but Morgana ignored him. Instead, she said to Merlin, “Just something I saw in the crystals. Not a bad thing, Merlin, not this time.”

Glaring at Morgana a moment, Merlin shrugged at Arthur, sending him a little gormless smile. “That’s not been my experience,” Merlin said.

“Well, this time, it’s not your experience that counts.” Turning to Arthur, ignoring Merlin’s huff of annoyance, Morgana said, “Arthur, when the sun rises, be the king you are meant to be.”

“What the hell does that mean?” Arthur said.

Then as Arthur turned to Merlin, obviously looking for an explanation, Merlin just shrugged. Rubbing his hand over his forehead, he said, “I hate cryptic. I had enough of that with Kilgharrah.”

Morgana just laughed. “And I’ll say nothing more about it.” She began to gather her things, snapping her purse shut, slinging an expensive leather jacket that probably would have cost some poor sod most of a year’s salary over her shoulder. “I will look for offices in Salisbury. We’ll need a large one, I think, and office staff, too. Merlin, if you could get your Victor to find a few people who are more amenable to magic, that would be wonderful. I’ll contact you once the place is available.”

“Very well.” Merlin nodded.

“And Arthur, I do love you. Sometimes it’s hard figuring out if I’m only Morgana or only Eleanor or both. But even Morgana in her early years truly loved you as a brother and I always have. Never forget that.” Reaching out, she grabbed Arthur and pulled him into a quick hug, then let him go. “And now that we’ve done enough familial bonding, I’m off.”

But she hesitated a moment, saying, “Merlin, you take care of yourself.” Then, before Merlin could ask what she meant by that, she waltzed out of the room. The front door clicked a few moments later.

“Well, that wasn’t helpful.” Arthur looked annoyed and not a little confused. “Is that normal? All that obscure nonsense.”

“Pretty much. I’ve found you have to go your own way and then the visions shape themselves around what you’ve done. Useless really. Which came first, the action or the prophesy or the vision that formed the prophesy? Very time-travely and bloody confusing,” Merlin said.

He gave Arthur a little smile, then shrugged, trying to let go of the tension that had settled into his body as soon as the Druids arrived, the feel of boulder-heavy anxiety seeping into his bones, the weight of it only now hitting him. He felt like he could sleep for a week. He also knew that there was a lot of work to do and not really enough time to do it. 

Arthur must have seen how tired he was. He slung one arm around Merlin’s waist, pulling him close, then nosing against his neck, said, “Time-travely like Doctor Who?”

Merlin felt lighter already. “Only with less sense.”


	25. Chapter 25

Arthur was a star. He pulled Merlin into the lounge, settling him down onto the sofa, and built a fire, or at least tried to. But after a few moments of watching him curse at the damp wood, Merlin sent out a pulse of magic, and before long, the fireplace was full of colour and warmth and sound.

It wasn’t until a few minutes later that he realised Arthur was cleaning up. But he didn’t protest. It was nice that someone else was doing it for once.

Finally, food and drink away and most of the mess gone, Arthur settled next to Merlin. Putting his feet up, humming as he sank into the sofa, Arthur said, “It’s too bad the castle isn’t functional. It would be a good place to set up things initially. People know Camelot from the legends and they’d probably come here first if they suddenly realised they have magic. If nothing else, then to seek answers.”

Merlin had to agree, at least in theory. “Not as a school, though. They are better off teaching magic in smaller settings and close to the earth. It’s hard to explain, but I feel it more in the woods and fields. As though magic flows from the earth itself.”

Arthur looked at him as if he didn’t understand a thing Merlin was saying. But he didn’t press the point.

Instead, Arthur said, “Could we maybe just set up the central agency here? You’re pretty powerful. Maybe fix the castle up, at least some of it?”

It warmed Merlin to think that Arthur believed in him so much that he’d even suggest such a thing. It was too bad that Merlin, powerful as he was, wasn’t nearly powerful enough for that. He hated to burst Arthur’s confidence in him, but it really was impossible.

“Arthur, have you looked at it recently? It’s even more of a ruin now than it was before they… came. And fixing things like that is really beyond me. Although I’m flattered.” He nudged Arthur a moment, smiling at him, trying to take the sting out of deflating Arthur’s enthusiasm. “If we did rebuild, it would probably take 5-10 years minimum and millions of pounds that would be better spent elsewhere.” He stopped for a moment, thinking about how much it would take and the effort, but if Arthur truly wanted it, there was nothing Merlin would not do to make Arthur’s wish come true. “But if you wanted me to….”

Arthur reached over and pushed at Merlin’s shoulder, hard enough that Merlin tilted over, right into the throw pillows on the sofa. He didn’t get up. He just lay there, looking up at Arthur.

Turning toward him, Arthur shook his head. “I just thought it would be perfect for them and for you, too. But I’m sure there are other places that would work just as well. Don’t worry about it.” He stared down at Merlin for a moment, his eyes darkening, although what came out of his mouth was perfectly normal. “I have friends in London that could help and your Victor sounds highly efficient. I’m sure it will be fine.”

And then Arthur pounced and both of them forgot all about meetings and Druids and the future.

That night, when Arthur had fallen asleep after a long, intense bout of love-making, Merlin lay there a while, staring at his face. The gold of his hair silvered by moonlight, his face slackened in satisfaction, the soft exhale of deep sleep, so much his king that it made Merlin ache with the loss of centuries. It still felt like a dream, and one he’d wake up from soon enough. 

When it was all said and done, though, it seemed now that he’d nothing to give to Arthur except his body, his loyalty, and his love. The palace was in ruins, Arthur was never going to be king in this new world, and Merlin believed himself a disappointment. Even though Morgana called Merlin an icon, he felt more a fraud than anything else. 

With that, he went downstairs, thinking to make himself tea, but the moon was a siren song, trees outside his window etched in light and shadow, and in the distance, an owl hooted softly. He stood there a long time, thinking to go back to bed and sleep off the melancholy. Instead, he thrust feet into boots, threw on a warm coat, and stepped out into the wider world.

He could feel the magic, not as intensely as when he had the relics hidden in the castle, but still he could sense the subtlety of it, the connection with the earth and sky, the way life breathed through the forest, and wove into the fabric of the world.

Not thinking, he let himself be led by something beyond himself, up, up, through the woods, and across the planked bridge, into the courtyard.

Even in the dark, the destruction was substantial. He’d not touched anything since the fight, but now, he could feel the wrongness of it. It seemed almost as if the castle itself were asking to be reborn.

Of course, it was beyond him. After all, that would take magic pulled from the earth itself, and even he didn’t have the power, no matter what the others said. Or what Arthur wanted.

He would have to hire contractors to fix it. He had enough money, more than enough, but it seemed useless. After all, what would he or Arthur do with a castle in the middle of nowhere?

No, it seemed impossible and fruitless.

As he turned away, thinking to go back to bed, above him, the moon was outlined in a ruined windowpane, and as he looked down again, he seemed trapped there by the shadows of the window frame imprisoning him. But that wasn’t quite true, not caged so much as cradled, surrounded by history and power and love.

Sighing, thinking that he was being ridiculous, that the thing pushing at the back of his mind was nigh impossible, still he sat down, surrounded in shadows and light, the star-filled sky wheeling overhead. Crossing his legs, his hands loose on his knees, he drew a deep breath and let it out again, slowly, slowly.

Merlin could feel the ground calling him, could feel the stones wanting to be of use again, could feel the life around him urging him on. So, he let go, of expectations, of futures and pasts, of everything but the moment.

Mind wandering, he followed the paths of destruction down, down. Then in his mind, he lifted a stone deep in the dark and pushed it up into the wall nearby, sealing it there. Returning it to its rightful place.

It was illusion, of course. Only the sorcerer, Sigan, had had enough power to build Camelot, and his consciousness was sealed forever in a blue jewel buried deep in the earth. Merlin let himself sink into the joy of it, anyway, letting each stone and carving flow back up into the wall from which it had fallen.

With each piece, Merlin could feel the earth thankful, the delight rising as blocks merged into walls, and decoration danced once more into place. 

Merlin laughed with it. It was almost as heady as the sex he’d had with Arthur earlier in the evening, even though it was less real than what he’d shared with his king. Hallucination or not, he felt somehow more alive at that moment than he had in a long, long time.

Sinking deeper into himself, he began to reach out, shoring up walls in the citadel itself, not just underground but surrounding him, too. He knew he was deluding himself, that the magic flowing outward was just a manifestation of his imagination. He’d wake up soon enough to find ruin and dust there. For the moment, it felt like joy instead.

He didn’t stop. Uther’s tower straightened up, the gargoyles gracing the walls once more. From where he was sitting, he could see a glow in Morgana’s old rooms, a cleansing as he should have done years ago, and her windows shining with glass.

There was sound, too, a rustling as walls mended, as the moon moved beyond the tower and disappeared, as the stars sang overhead, of forests and oceans and the earth breathing deep underground. He’d never experienced such a thing. Not him stopping time, but time flowing ever-faster, and the castle growing even as he watched, a beautiful symphony of movement and melody.

It was ecstasy, it was bliss, it was absurd.

It was tiring.

Merlin’s eyelids grew heavy, his limbs seemed to be sinking down into the stones of the courtyard. The weight of the world was on his chest, he couldn’t feel himself breathing, and he had to lay down a moment to rest. He knew he shouldn’t, that he should get back to the house and into Arthur’s arms again, but closing his eyes wasn’t something he could forego. It didn’t matter, though. He’d rest and then in the morning, the castle would be the same as it had for centuries, a ruin fading into memory and the rebuilt castle just a melancholy dream.

But for now, it was a gleaming beacon, beauty made solid in Merlin’s mind. And with that, Merlin closed his eyes and slept.


	26. Chapter 26

“What the fuck were you thinking?”

Arthur’s voice was loud in Merlin’s head, and he tried not to wince at the anger.

After that confusing dream, Merlin expected to find himself waking in the courtyard, but when he opened his eyes, he was in his room, in his bed. Aching, confused, worn to nothing.

A very upset Arthur stared down at him. Arthur looked as furious as Merlin had ever seen him. He also looked like he hadn’t slept in days, hair uncombed, days-old scruff on his cheek, clothes that had seen better days.

Blinking up at him, Merlin tried to answer, his throat working but nothing came out. He also felt like he’d slept for a hundred years or a thousand, exhausted still, and barely thinking, although trying for Arthur’s sake. Finally, he said, “I… sorry?”

At that, Arthur growled, “Fuck that. Sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it. You could have died, you absolute pillock.”

Arthur wasn’t making any sense. It was only a dream, and if Merlin had overslept, it wasn’t all that big a deal. “I… it wasn’t… what?”

“Articulate as ever, I see.” Arthur began pacing up and down, scowling at Merlin the whole time. It sounded as though Arthur was speaking from the bottom of a well. Merlin had to strain to understand what he was saying. “Taliesin says that you will be fine in a couple of days, but you are to take it easy and not use magic in any way. And that means _any_ magic.”

“What… why was Taliesin here? What? I thought… I’m… why are you angry?” Merlin tried to get up, pushing himself up on his elbows but it didn’t last long. Finally, he gave up, lying back down again.

Stomping over, Arthur pulled one of the pillows out from underneath Merlin, plumped it up in quick, jerky punches, then shoved it back under Merlin’ head.

Then standing over Merlin, looking like he wanted to send Merlin to the stocks and throw away the key, Arthur snapped, “Taliesin and Brigit and one other person I’d not met before, I think her name was Airmid or Ari or something — I don’t know. They pushed me aside as soon as Morgs called them, although I think they already knew.”

Blinking up at him, trying to understand why Arthur was acting like this, Merlin said, “Knew what? What happened? Why am I so tired?”

“You fucking idiot, you rebuilt the castle,” Arthur shouted, his voice loud as a thunderclap.

“It was just a dream. I don’t… know?” Merlin sunk deeper into the pillows. Arthur was so angry, and he didn’t like it one bit.

As Arthur stood there, his fingers busy with pulling at his lank hair, his face cut in a deep frown, he said, “Look, I woke up, you were gone.” Then realising what he was doing, he stopped, folding his arms tight across his chest, and glaring daggers at Merlin. “I got a frantic call from Morgs about four in the morning, and she said she’d be right there. She said to go find you and that I had to hurry.” Leaning forward, jaw jutting into Merlin’s space, he said, “Do you know how many rooms are in this place? And there’s tunnels under, and oh by the way, I’ve ruined a couple of bookshelves and there’s books everywhere in that secret library of yours.”

That couldn’t be good. There were dozens of magical texts there, and some of them Gaius’s own. Merlin had rescued them before the looters could burn them all and hidden them away. Infinitely precious and not just to Merlin. His mind went to worry.

“How did you find the library?” Merlin said.

With that, Arthur exploded again, arms waving, shouting at Merlin. “That’s what you’re asking about? The library?”

“There are very old books in there, some of which I’d written.” Merlin wasn’t willing to just let it go. Those books were irreplaceable.

“You are unbelievable, you pillock.” Arthur stood over Merlin, talking in distinct, clipped tones. Merlin had never seen him so livid. “After the house, I looked through the barn and the garden and finally I realised that the ruins looked different. And I ran up to the castle and you were just lying there, on the ground.” He stopped a second, his throat working before he said, “I couldn’t feel a pulse and you weren’t… breathing. And, oh by the way, we may have to check on your ribs because I pounded on your chest a bit.” Glaring, he snarled, “Say thank you, Merlin.”

“Thank you?” Merlin was starting to get angry, too, but it took effort and he just didn’t have the energy. “I don’t remember.”

Rolling his eyes, Arthur stood up, then began pacing again. “Good thing I’m in excellent shape because I hauled your bony arse back to the house just in time for Morgs to arrive. I was going to take you to A&E, but she said it was magical, not physical, and then told me to go wait in the lounge.” He stopped for a moment, thinking or remembering. Merlin wasn’t sure which. Arthur’s voice was softer then, more amused than furious. “I told her to go fuck herself.” He let out a bark of laughter before turning irate again. “She didn’t appreciate that.”

“I bet she didn’t.” Merlin said, what little anger there draining from him.

Arthur rubbed his jaw a moment. “She’s got quite a left hook, and did you know she can push people aside with just a thought?”

“Yeah.” Merlin nodded, blinking up at him, feeling more and more tired as Arthur was explaining things in that curt furious tone of his.

“Listen, you muddle-minded miscreant, it’s been three days. And a half. And I’ve had Druids coming in and out and glaring at me as if it were my fault you’re such an idiot.” Arthur grimaced a little, looking like he wasn’t sure if he should be pacing or throttling Merlin. Luckily for Merlin, the pacing won. “There was smoke and potions that smelled like vomit and I was in the next room when they were making them so who knows what they tasted like. Even asleep, you were tilting things over and making books fly and did you know you brought a platypus from fucking Australia here? They have no idea why.” He stopped again, straightening the bedcovers, punching at the pillow that Merlin wasn’t using and then throwing it down again on the bed next to Merlin. “It’s been a fucking nightmare.”

That was odd.

“Is the platypus all right?” In a distant part of his mind, he wondered what kind of transportation spell he used to reach that far. But then it didn’t really matter. He didn’t remember it anyway.

Arthur was looking at him as if Merlin had lost his mind. “He’s in a zoo and it was impossible to explain how we got him.” He gave another yank on the coverlet, then smoothed it down. “You have the awe-inspiring intelligence of a toadstool, you wanker.”

When Merlin just lay there, not knowing what to say, Arthur sighed, then sat down on the bed. “Don’t ever do that to me again.”

Hating the defeat in Arthur’s voice, Merlin said, soft and confused, “I still don’t know what I did.”

“I told you. You rebuilt the fucking castle, including the roof of the Great Hall, and the fissures in the courtyard.”

For a moment, Merlin didn’t react because honestly, it didn’t make sense. Arthur just stared at him. Finally, with another sigh, Arthur said, “As far as I can tell, it’s as good as new.” Arthur looked down at his hands, then back at Merlin. “You told me it wasn’t possible.”

“It’s not.” It wasn’t possible. Sigan had had that much power, but Merlin never even came close, not in a thousand years.

But Arthur didn’t seem to understand that. “Well, the Druids said they could feel the magic from as far away as London, so I guess you could do that.”

If what Arthur said was true, that would mean that he’d used so much magic that… it was incomprehensible. And if he had, then magic always demanded a balance. Always. And it wasn’t Arthur because Arthur was there so… he didn’t even want to think about it.

In a small, horrified voice, Merlin said, “What price did I pay?”

“Price? Price? You mean the way I felt when I saw you there on the ground? That in my head I was screaming that I’d have to live when you were dead? That price?” Arthur said, apparently still furious at him.

Merlin was blinking back tears. He’d gone through that the first time and the pain was still as real and sharp as that wicked day so long ago. He’d never have wanted Arthur to feel that way and now he had. And it was all Merlin’s fault.

Arthur must have seen how upset Merlin was because his voice gentled. “Well, Morgs said that the forest would be a bit dead around here for a while and your garden is pretty much gone, and there was an earthquake up north of us. No one was hurt, but some of the hillforts around here were shaking. There were thunderstorms all across the UK and witchlight dancing on the top of Avebury’s stone circle and Stonehenge and a couple of other places, too.”

“Damn, that’s….” Merlin said, thinking about what that must have looked like to those who weren’t used to magic.

Arthur shook his head, gave a brittle laugh as if amused but not really. He said, “Don’t worry. The newscasters put it down to storms and fracking.” When Merlin stared at him, still waiting for the other shoe to drop, Arthur put him at ease, sort of. “But mostly, Taliesin said that Camelot had so much power soaked into the earth that you pushed into it over the centuries, even without the relics, it was righting itself. If that makes sense.”

Merlin had been protecting the castle for a millennium, using magic to keep it from being ravished by looters and people looking for building stone. He’d not thought about balance, then. If only Gaius were alive, he’d be boxing Merlin’s ears. “Bloody hell.”

“Well, you told me you were the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the face of the earth, so I guess you weren’t lying.” Arthur leaned over, his hand coming up as if to smack Merlin across the head, but then instead, Arthur brushed his fingers through his own hair, making it even more of a bird’s nest than it already was. “What were you thinking?”

“I… honestly, Arthur, I didn’t do it on purpose. It just happened.” Merlin said, then shrugged a little, unsure of how to explain it.

“Just happened? Just happened?!” Arthur stood up, towering over Merlin. “Well, in future, not happening would be the best thing that wasn’t happening or happening or I…, you fucking wanker.”

Merlin sunk deeper into the pillows, trying to sink in and disappear for a little while. “Could you stop yelling at me? My head hurts.”

Arthur jerked at that, then sat down, subdued, thoughtful, concerned, and pulled Merlin into a hug before letting him go. “Merlin, I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said.

Climbing up to the headboard, leaning against the extra pillow, as Arthur lay down next to Merlin, he said, “Well, one good thing came out of it. Taliesin was much less hostile to me once the Druids realised it wasn’t my idea.” Arthur gave a little snort, shaking his head. “They even suggested that we use the castle as the base of operations for the Albion Trust, if that’s okay with you.” Arthur glanced Merlin’s way, then took Merlin’s hand in his and kissed it, before letting go. “I know you didn’t want tourists here, but it did seem the perfect place for it, a centre of magic and myth. Not Disneyesque, but a real castle and well-regulated tours and such. That way, ne-dryas will be mixing with magic users in a non-threatening situation. You know?” 

Arthur sounded almost excited about it, as if he wanted strangers walking around, looking at things. But of course, the Arthur of old would have remembered the castle full of life and activity and he probably longed for it again.

Then again, Merlin really could never say no to Arthur. “Camelot was always yours and always will be.”

Grinning at that, Arthur pushed up a bit onto his one elbow, looking more excited than Merlin had seen him in quite some time. “He suggested that maybe I could run it, seeing as they’d need every magic user they had for training and oversight once the influx of new people started arriving.” Arthur gave a little grin. “Not quite a king, but at least I’d be useful.”

Reaching out, Merlin touched Arthur’s face, his fingers following the lines there, smoothing them out, his thumb hovering at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. Smiling, Arthur turned and kissed him, then fell back onto the pillow.

Merlin said, “You’ll always be my king, but can we talk about this later? I’m really tired.”

“I’ll be here when you wake up.” With that, Arthur got up, started fussing with the bed cover, then leaning in, said, “And then I’ll really start yelling.”

“Something to look forward to.” Merlin smiled at that, then closed his eyes.

He felt a kiss on his forehead, then as he relaxed, falling into sleep, he heard, “I love you, you idiot.” And that was enough for him.


	27. Chapter 27

Arthur lied. He didn’t yell when Merlin woke up. He just shovelled hot broth into Merlin’s mouth every time he went to say something. And helped him walk to the toilet, shaved him like he was an invalid, washed him down, got him into new bedclothes, and settled him back into the pillows on his bed.

To be honest, it felt good to be so cared for. Merlin had never really had that once his mum died, and over the centuries, he hadn’t let anyone close enough to him to touch him beyond the impersonal. Even his few lovers had been distant. But this was wonderful, if only Arthur would stop staring at him.

Finally, when Arthur was finished fussing — although he did look like he wanted to keep it up, but Merlin sent him a glare and that was that, Arthur said, “Morgs is coming over today. I told her that if you were in the least bit yelled at by anyone else but me, I’d chase them out and finish the job myself.”

Merlin just scowled at him, and Arthur gave a little grin back. Then Merlin realised what Arthur said. “Why is Morgana coming?”

Arthur looked at him as if Merlin were an idiot. And that might even be true. Merlin had to admit that he was too tired to think very clearly at the moment, but he wasn’t going to give Arthur any reason to keep fussing. Merlin lifted one eyebrow, very much as Gaius might have done, and waited patiently for Arthur to get a clue. 

Pulling up a chair and sitting next to Merlin, Arthur just patted his hand, as if he’d seen right through Merlin and wasn’t above sitting on him if Merlin tried anything.

“She wants to see the castle and how it’s laid out. It’s not up to code and she was talking about toilets and electricity and heating issues,” Arthur said. “They’re going to need to rush it a bit as they’ve already gotten some new members. They want to make sure it’s ready before long.”

“Well, it’s Camelot, not some tourist attraction.” Merlin rolled his eyes a bit. After all, he’d not really wanted the place overrun, ever, but that was no longer an option, apparently.

Arthur must have remembered what he’d said when they first met. “Yes, I know you didn’t want it to turn into an amusement park Camelot-style, but if we’re having staff here and guests who will need someplace to stay until they can be moved to one of the teaching centres, we will need toilets and water and such.” He hesitated a little, then said, “She also wanted to bring along a friend, for graphic design ideas for the adverts.”

Merlin just blinked up at him. “Adverts? Why would we want those?”

Maybe Merlin was an idiot. Arthur certainly seemed to think so by the way he was scrunching up his face at Merlin. Shaking his head, Arthur said, “Because, you cabbagehead, some of the newly awakened magic users will need to know where to go.” Then he let out a long sigh, sounding very put-upon. “It won’t be a full-blown advertising scheme. Mostly on the internet and the Albion Trust’s website. And yes, that’s what they decided to call it. I rather like it.”

Somehow that fit. It settled Merlin a little, made his worries seem a little less worrisome, and there was an echo of destiny somewhere under his breastbone. Not wanting to push it, Merlin just said, “When Albion’s need was greatest?”

Arthur could read him like a book sometimes. Nodding, reaching out and giving Merlin’s shoulder a little squeeze, he said, “I doubt the Great Dragon was talking about this kind of thing, but from what you’ve told me, you never know with him.” Then he let go, leaning back into the chair. “Anyway, be prepared. Gwen’s coming.”

For a moment, Merlin thought Arthur meant his wife, dead now a thousand years. He stammered out, “G… Gwen?”

“Yeah, Lance’s fiancée. My old girlfriend.” Arthur didn’t seem to be too worried about it. Giving Merlin a smile and shrug, he said, “She’s a web designer. Archaeology was just her hobby. But she’s excellent at her job and it will be good to see her again. Besides, I’m sure she’ll want to talk wedding plans. Lance tells me she won’t stop talking about it. Driving him a bit barmy at the moment.”

Merlin didn’t know what to say about that. He was more worried about the ramifications of magic and her ne-dryas reaction. “Is she… does she know?”

Arthur shrugged. “I would imagine Morgana told her.” Then he must have heard something because he got up and went to the window, pushing it open. “I guess we’ll find out. They’re here.”

Merlin tried to get up, thinking to put real clothes on, not flimsy pyjamas, but Arthur waved him back. “Merlin, no. They don’t care and they know that you are recovering from illness, well at least Gwen thinks it’s illness. Morgs knows better.”

“I’m not… this isn’t how I wanted to… I hate you, you know. Springing this on me without a heads up.” Merlin glared at him, then seeing that Arthur wasn’t going to budge, Merlin sat up, smoothed his hair down a bit, and crossing his arms across his chest, tried to at least look dignified.

Arthur pulled him close and gave him a quick kiss.

As if that would placate him. Merlin wasn’t having any of it.

Then there were voices in the hall, and as Arthur called them upstairs, his room was full of voices and hugs.

Gwen looked like the Gwen of old, at least in most things. There was a solid air of competence to her, unlike the stammering of his dear friend, but the warmth was the same and the kindness in her eyes.

Side-stepping Morgana, Arthur pulled Gwen into a brief hug. “Where’s Lance? Or did he send you into the mouth of the dragon without him?”

“Arthur, he’s right behind me.” Gwen glanced toward Merlin, then said, “Hi, I’m Gwen Wifmann. Eleanor suggested that I come and talk to you about your adverts. And maybe show me the castle? It looks spectacular from here.”

“Sorry about the mess. I’ve been… ill.” Merlin gazed at her, trying to find anything of the old Gwen, but there didn’t seem to be any spark there, certainly nothing of magic although he could hardly tell with his magical sense completely, annoyingly numb at the moment.

Biting at her lip, Gwen looked upset. “I hope we aren’t intruding. Eleanor said that it was urgent and that you would be fine with it, but I thought it could have waited for a while, but she said….”

Merlin smiled. Apparently, the stammering was still there after all, and it warmed him to hear it. “Don’t worry about it. Eleanor has a way of wrapping people around her finger. Welcome to Kilgharrah House.”

Beaming, Gwen looked around the room. “It’s lovely. Fourteenth century or maybe a bit older?” When Merlin looked at her, smiling because she was not far off, she said, “History of old houses is one of my passions and this one looks like it’s been added to several times.”

“Quite correct. The foundations were laid in the 1200s, and my family has been adding to it ever since.” Merlin would have loved to have talked to her about what he’d done, but he wasn’t sure just how much she knew and how much he’d have to hide from her.

As Lance came into the room, he said, “The castle is even better. Last time I was here, it was mostly ruins, although Art tells me that it’s like new now.” He stopped near the door, frowning a little at Merlin, then nodded as he stepped closer. “I’m sorry you are unwell, Merlin. Art told me that you were not to be upset.”

“Arthur is a worry-wart. I’ll be fine as soon as he stops being a prat.” Merlin scowled a moment at Arthur, then turned back to Lance. He hesitated for a moment. After all, he’d lied to Lance last time they met and underneath it all, he hoped that he would be forgiven for it. “I… I’m sorry I had to lie to you. It wasn’t you. It’s… just that I’ve learned over the years to trust no one. And I was worried that… I’m sorry.”

Lance nodded once. “Hiding who you are for so long must have been hard.”

“You have no idea. Hiding and lying and being so alone has made me more than cynical. It’s made me defensive and aggressive about people discovering the truth. And over the years, it’s been dangerous, too. I’ve had to run for my life on more than one occasion.” Merlin looked down at his hands, suddenly ashamed.

Lance said, “Once I got past the fact that what I’d seen was real and that you were trying to hide what you’d done, I thought it through, and I do understand why you tried to deceive me. And Art, too. Magic isn’t welcome in a modern society.”

“Yeah, at least not yet.” Merlin gave him a little hopeful smile.

“I hope you are right. I can see lots of ways it could go wrong.” Lance shook his head, glancing toward Gwen. “That’s why I didn’t want Gwen involved.”

By the way Gwen frowned at him, Merlin wasn’t sure Gwen agreed with Lance. But he didn’t point it out, only said, “We really have no choice at this point. We’ll just have to make sure it goes right.”

“Lance is too protective by half. I’m not made of glass.” Gwen said, “Although he seems to think so at times.”

‘Sometimes people in love do the wrong things for the right reasons. Instead of trusting Arthur with the truth, I lied and then when I came clean, it took even longer for Arthur to get his head out of his arse and forgive me.” Merlin glanced at Arthur, gave him a little smile. Arthur just reached over, squeezed his hand, and shook his head. “We all make mistakes.”

Turning to Gwen, Lance said, “I wanted to keep you out of it because we all know that it’s potentially huge and there is danger if it’s not handled just right.” He turned toward Morgana, his face full of worry. “Eleanor and I talked about it, argued about it, too. You know how people are, their superstitions, their fears. History is full of horrors. I didn’t want Gwen to get hurt.”

“Then why is she here?” Arthur said.

Lance rolled his eyes, then scowled at Gwen. “She’s stubborn as hell.”

Folding her arms across her chest, her brown eyes flashing annoyance, Gwen said, “Lancelot DuLac, I’m not the only one.” Then she turned to Arthur. “I heard you and Lance arguing about some mysterious force and what Lance had seen and I knew he’d just shrug it off if I asked him what was going on. Then he got all moody after that — and don’t deny it, Lance.” When Lance started to say something, Gwen threw him a look, then ignored his mumbling. “And he refused to talk with his best man and the wedding was coming up. So after much prodding and prying and a very thorough stonewalling by my fiancé, I went to Eleanor.”

Morgana gave Gwen a quick satisfied smile. “And I filled her in.”

“And I told you not to. Magic isn’t just something you can get down at the local shop or pass it off as something normal. Sorry but it’s true. People will fear what they don’t understand.” Lancelot glared daggers at Morgana.

But Morgana wasn’t having any of it. “DuLac, maybe you should let her make her own decisions. She’s a grown woman, capable of thinking for herself, you know.”

“I love her. I don’t want her hurt,” Lance insisted.

Gwen let out an unhappy sigh. “I love you, too, but you shouldn’t have kept it from me. Eleanor is right. I’m capable of making my own decisions and you better get used to the idea.”

Morgana nodded. “She’d have found out soon enough anyway.” She glanced out the bedroom window, looking toward the gleaming stone in the distance. “How are the villagers taking the changes at the castle? I’m surprised the rumours aren’t flying already. Legends coming back to life, magic and mayhem, you know, the usual.”

Arthur looked out toward the castle, too, then back to Merlin. “When I went down to the village, they seemed happy about it. Talked about how it would bring customers in. I didn’t have the heart to tell them that it wasn’t just a building crew gone wild… although a few of them gave me a wink and a nod and said it was like magic.” He gave a little huff of amusement. “I think some of them are more than a little curious. Their questions were a bit pointed. Especially Mrs Richards down at the charity shop.”

Merlin nodded. “The villagers have always taken the legends to heart. Much as I’ve tried to dissuade them. I guess now they’ll find out just how right they were.” He rolled his eyes, then gave a dramatic and much put-upon sigh. “Some of them will be unbearably smug. Mrs Richards will have a whole set of I-told-you-so comments at the ready next time I see her. And Mr Simmons, ugh, he’ll be lecturing me on keeping secrets and could I magic him up some ale.”

Arthur shook his head. “Serves you right. When you could have been conjuring up some of the cakes I like from Paris instead.”

Merlin glanced down at Arthur’s waist. “I’ll have to add another notch to that already straining belt of yours.”

“I am not fat.” Arthur sounded indignant but Merlin knew better. It was just their way.

In a stage whisper, Gwen said, “Are they always like that?”

Lance nodded. “Pretty much.”

Gwen seemed to take that in stride. “So, Eleanor has shown me some of what she can do, in magical terms. If I’m going to be working on the website, I’ll need a bit more information.” Gwen turned to Merlin. “I’ve heard that you are the expert. Could you tell me something of the castle? I know we’ll be going up there in a bit but the history?”

Merlin perked up at that. “I could go with you.”

“No, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice was flat and emphatic, brooking no argument.

“I’m not an invalid, Arthur. You can’t make me stay in bed forever.” Merlin wasn’t having it. He wasn’t going to be stuck in his room when everyone else was out and about. Besides, he hadn’t seen what the castle looked like now, other than a brief glimpse out his window.

“Much as that sounds wonderful,” Arthur said. Lance coughed a little, but Arthur sent him a glare and turned back to Merlin. “It’s just that if you come along, I know you, you’ll try and hide how much of a struggle it is and then you’ll be tempted to use your magic and….”

Merlin scowled at him. “No, I won’t.”

“Yes, you will,” Arthur snapped. “Olwin said no magic for at least three more days. And you’ll conjure fireballs or dancing daffodils or those butterflies of yours and then who knows what will happen. So no, absolutely not.”

“But….” Merlin sent Arthur a sharp scowl.

“No.” Arthur shoved his face forward, mere inches from Merlin’s. “You are a petulant child sometimes.”

“And you are a thick-witted arsewipe,” Merlin snarled back.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Better that than a prurient pustulated prognosticator.”

Merlin was impressed but he wasn’t about to let Arthur get the better of him. He said, “You toe-toffeed twit.”

“Feather-headed muppet,” Arthur instantly replied.

“Digger of privies,” growled Merlin.

Arthur laughed at that one, pulling back, smiling and shaking his head. “That’s proud digger of privies, I’ll have you know.”

Morgana must have had enough. Throwing her hands up in the air, she said, “Okay, you two. You can shag later. I’m going to take Lance and Gwen up to the castle. Arthur, are you coming?”

Merlin wasn’t about to give in without a fight. “But….”

Arthur turned on him, thrusting one finger in his face. Sharp and final, he said, “No, Merlin.” Then ignoring Merlin’s sputter, he said to Morgana, “Yes, I’m coming.”

Merlin started to get out of bed, thrusting the coverlet aside, but Arthur just threw it back in his face. Grabbing onto Merlin’s shoulder and shoving him back down, Arthur said, “Stop being a prat.” While Merlin narrowed his eyes into stubbornness, Arthur squeezed a little, then let go. “Look, how about I set up a video call on my phone and you can watch on your laptop? I know it’s technology magic and not your kind, but that way, you can let us know about certain issues and still rest.” His voice softened into worry. “Merlin, seriously, I want you to rest. You scared the hell out of me.”

With that kind of look, Merlin couldn’t say no. “I love you, too.”

Gwen turned to Lance and gave him a quick hug. Morgana just rolled her eyes.

And that was that.


	28. Chapter 28

Surprisingly, the video worked well. Merlin didn’t have to climb stairs nor crawl through tunnels and the ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’ Gwen was making were rather wonderful. She was also fairly adept at suggestions about where to put plumbing and electrical cables. At uni, she’d worked for an engineering company part time and picked up a few skills. But of course, they’d have to bring in actual crews and architects, but by the time they got back to Merlin’s house, they had some idea of where things would go.

Getting it done quickly would be another issue.

Gwen was shaking off the dust when she said, “That’s an amazing castle. It’s in pristine condition as far as I could tell, and it should be good enough for small conferences, some offices, and a few overnight guests. I assume you’ll be having tours, too. Perhaps even filming crews. I know that the film industry is always looking for new places and they pay well for a few days of interruption.”

Morgana shook her head. “We’re going to focus on the Albion Trust work. Tours may be possible as long as they don’t disrupt our work. But filming is out of the question right now. Besides, Merlin has agreed to finance the project, so money is not an issue.”

Gwen blinked at Merlin, frowning a little as she said, “It will cost probably a couple of million pounds to do it properly. There will need to be piping laid and such. And furniture and security. Then there’s staffing and….”

Merlin smiled up at her. “It won’t be a problem. I can just….”

Arthur interrupted. “No magic, not for a few more days. Olwen insisted….”

“I know what Olwen said. I wouldn’t do it right away and it would mostly be physical labour….” Merlin said.

“Merlin, you can’t do everything.” Arthur snapped at him. “It’s not just you anymore.”

“I know it’s not but….” Merlin snapped right back. Arthur was being a fusspot.

Morgana cleared her throat, loudly enough to echo in the room. “Gwen, I’ll talk with you tomorrow about the adverts and some of the ideas we discussed earlier.”

Gwen looked relieved. And Lance stood next to her, shaking his head, then shrugging. Gwen said, “Of course, Eleanor, I’ll do some mockups and send them to you.” Then she turned to Arthur. “Art, I don’t know if Lance told you, but the wedding is set for January fifteenth.” She smiled down at Merlin. “And I hope Merlin comes, too. It will be a small wedding, but Lance and I would love to share it with you both.”

There was a warm spot under Merlin’s heart, soft and contented. She’d only just met him, but already he felt as if he’d known her for ages. She wasn’t showing any signs of remembering, but it didn’t matter. She was still brave, and kind of heart and he wanted to be her friend, and Lance’s, too. With a grin, Merlin sat up, and said, “I’d love to, Gwen. If it’s not too much trouble.”

Lance nodded. “Gwen’s in charge but I want you there, too. If nothing else, to keep Artie in line.”

Arthur just rolled his eyes, then said, “More like I’ll have to keep the stubborn git away from the alcohol, but that was nice of you to invite him. How about I see you out? I know Morgs wanted a few moments with Merlin before she goes.” 

At least Morgana waited until they were out the door. “I think Arthur’s feeling a bit left out.”

Merlin was confused. He’d not done anything to make Arthur feel that way. “Why would he think such a thing?”

Morgana glanced behind her, then walked over to Merlin’s bed, and sighed. “Look at it this way. He was once a king, now he’s a nursemaid and a paper pusher and he doesn’t really have goals anymore. His dream was to find Camelot. All his life, he rarely talked about anything else and now he’s found it and it’s finished and it’s not even his to keep or write papers about.” Merlin started to protest but Morgana just shook her head. “You have all these abilities, and power beyond just the magic and the money. And you steamroller over everyone in your path. You know you do. Probably because you’ve been alone for so long.” She hesitated, then said, “Just… don’t pity him, but he needs a new goal, something he can excel at.”

Merlin frowned up at her. “He’s always been my king. He always will be.”

“But he doesn’t feel that. He won’t say it, but it’s pretty clear that he’s feeling a bit lost. Just be aware, okay?” Morgana patted his shoulder, then looked up. “He’s coming.”

As she stepped away, turning her concerned frown into blasé indifference, her voice turned business-like. “So, Merlin, tomorrow, I’ll be sending you a list of properties that I think can be used for retreat and training centres for the newly magical. Most of them are near Druidic encampments. You said you would help setting them up, or at least obtaining them for the Albion Trust.”

Merlin didn’t even glance toward Arthur as he came into the room. Instead, keeping his face neutral, he said, “Of course, I’ll talk to Victor later this week. I… he’s only ever seen me as old Merlin so I’ll have to wait until I can change appearances, but we should be able to move on them quickly.”

“I’ve talked to Arthur about bringing Camelot up to code for the influx of people we expect in the next few months. He’s agreed to take charge of that.” She turned, nodding to Arthur. “Right?”

“Whatever you need me to do, Morgs,” Arthur said, his face giving nothing away.

Merlin spoke up. “That’s an excellent idea. Especially with his memories of the castle and how things worked then. I’d hoped he would. I’ll be more focused on the magic anyway. If that’s all right with you, Arthur?”

“I said I’d do it,” Arthur’s voice sharpened. Then he turned away, looking off toward the castle.

Morgana gave a little shrug, widening her eyes as she tilted her chin at Arthur as if signalling Merlin to do something. Finally, she said, “I know it’s going to be tight, but Midwinter Solstice is coming up and we want to roll out our announcement then. It would be the perfect time, with the media and Druidic hierarchies coming together on that day. Stonehenge is open for the ceremony as the sun rises over the stones. A bit of magic would be wonderful then. There will also be a ceremony as the sun sets between the trilithons.”

It would be the perfect opportunity to bring the magical communities together as one and hold tight against those who either fear magic or want to exploit it. Merlin said, “Who will be announcing it?”

“Taliesin as Eldest would be, but it’s under some discussion as to whether we also need a ne-dryas there standing beside him, to show that we are all in this together. I know that Taliesin is in favour of having Arthur head up the Camelot location at least, but the more I look at it, the more it seems to me that he should head up the entire operation. That way, those of the magical community can concentrate on training and issues dealing with magic. It’s going to be a huge job.” Morgana looked at Arthur as if to guess how well that might sit with him, but he was giving nothing away. “But things are still up in the air a bit for now. We’re having meetings later in the week. I will let you both know how it goes.”

“Thanks, Morgana.” Merlin pushed himself up a bit, trying to look like he was getting better when all he really wanted to do was sleep. “Send me the information on the properties and we’ll set it up as soon as possible.”

Morgana reached down, kissing him on the forehead, then ruffled his hair. As he scowled up at her, she gave a little laugh. “I will.” Then she walked over to Arthur and punched him in the arm.

Arthur glared at her. “What was that for?”

“Be nice. He’s still sick, no matter how much he denies it.” Then with a wave of her hand, she said, “Call me as soon as it’s set up.” And then she waltzed out of the room. A few moments later, the door slammed.

For a long while, Merlin was silent. He hoped that Arthur would tell him what was wrong, but Drake was as stubborn as his old Arthur had been, and Merlin was too tired to deal with it just then.

So Merlin settled back into the pillows, closed his eyes, and thought about sleep.

“Why am I here, Merlin?” Arthur said, his voice soft and unsure.

Glancing up at him, Merlin said, “To help me get better?”

Arthur let out an annoyed sigh, his fingers combing through his hair and he was biting at his lip, a sure sign of distress. Then when Merlin looked at him, confused, Arthur sighed again, then went over to the window, staring out at the castle.

Finally, after a long, long silence, Arthur said, “No, why am I here? Why now? It’s like I’m this useless… thing trying to figure what the hell I am supposed to be doing.” He turned back, his face a mixture of frustration and loss. “I should be out fighting foes or righting wrongs or something, not lingering around like some poor hanger-on begging for scraps.”

How could Arthur ever think that? Horrified, Merlin said, “Arthur, you’re not… what brought this on?”

Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded toward the castle. “It’s the same, Merlin. The castle is as perfect as it was back then, but empty of everything that made it Camelot. Hollow and useless and irrelevant. Like me.” He looked away, down at his feet, then back at Merlin. Blinking hard, almost as if he were fighting tears, Arthur said, “You should have left it as it was. At least then, it had magic. Not a façade without meaning, reminding me of all that I’ve lost.”

He had no idea that Arthur felt that way. Then, as he struggled to get out of bed, wanting to go over and hug Arthur, Arthur came over instead, pushed him back down and smoothed the coverlet as Merlin said, “Arthur, it’s… I don’t know. I’ve been thinking a lot about it, ever since you arrived.” He reached out and captured Arthur’s hand and held it to his chest. “Maybe, just maybe, you are here to defend Albion, not just the Trust, but all of Albion.”

“What do you mean?” Arthur frowned, but he didn’t pull away.

Merlin thought a second, then said, “Albion isn’t really just the UK or even England or the territory that used to be Camelot’s. It’s more than that. It’s magical and non-magical people living together in peace and safety, helping each other, supporting each other in times of need.”

Arthur shook his head, but he didn’t pull away. He just let his hand rest in Merlin’s. “But I can’t help with that. I’m just some archaeologist digging around in the dirt. No magic, with nothing but a trowel and a computer that could use more memory.”

Sometimes Arthur could be so blind. With both fondness and exasperation, Merlin said, “You are so much more. You’re my protector, my everything. You have knowledge and experience and….” When Arthur looked at him like he’d gone mad, he squeezed Arthur’s hand a little, pressing it against his heart. “I think you’re here to help the others, too, the whole magic community. They’ll need allies, they’ll need people who can speak up for them, protect them from those who would wish to exploit them or destroy them.” Reaching up with his other hand, he cupped it around Arthur’s cheek, feeling the warmth in his palm. Something so precious, something that he’d despaired of ever feeling again. “I have faith in you, Arthur. I always have.”

Arthur didn’t pull away, instead leaned into the caress for a moment. “I’ll think about it.”

Merlin let his hand drop and with a final squeeze, let Arthur go. “Well, we can talk more tomorrow. I’m knackered.”

“Sleep well, then, Myrddin Ambrosius.” Arthur kissed his forehead, and it felt wonderful and so right.

But of course, he wasn’t about to let Arthur get away with it. “Not my name.”

Arthur just smiled. “Yes, I know. Your real name is idiot.”


	29. Chapter 29

Over the next few days, Merlin got stronger and stronger. Arthur seemed to hover more than usual, but Merlin was only too happy having him there to tell him to back off.

Merlin also tried to include Arthur more in things. When Morgana sent him the listing for the properties the Albion Trust wanted to buy, Arthur volunteered to research them a bit, to make sure they would have enough bedrooms and land for what they’d need, and he looked into pricing, too. He found a few items that would need to be taken care of, and that helped Merlin know what he needed to tell Victor when he contacted him.

Arthur threw himself into plans for the changes to the castle, making suggestions for plumbing and access. Morgana seemed so happy that he was involved that they even fought less. Within a day, he was contacting Gwen to arrange for an architectural firm to start with plans and permits and looking into companies to make bids on the actual work. Arthur absolutely refused to let Merlin work his magic on the castle, saying that it was too dangerous after what he’d done. Merlin backed off, at least for the short term.

And Merlin talked with Arthur about finances, about what he’d planned on doing with his businesses and stocks. Arthur was surprisingly helpful. After all, he had been king, and while Merlin thought Arthur had always loved the physical aspects of knighthood, he went to council meetings about supply chains and armies to feed. Honestly, money was money in many respects, not so much stocks and portfolios of the modern age, but charities and businesses were similar.

So, when Merlin was ready to contact Victor, Arthur was there to back him up and looking considerably happier about it.

Arthur was wringing his hands like an old mother hen when Merlin used magic to turn into Old Merlin. Scowling, checking to see that Merlin was all right, asking him over and over again how he felt.

At first it was wonderful, but finally Merlin glared at him and told him to back off. Arthur did, with much grumbling.

After getting dressed in his normal old Merlin clothes, he sent his CFO, Victor, an email, asking for a video conference call. A few moments later, they were on a private, encrypted line.

Victor Armstrong had been a good friend for many years. Greying at the temples, his brown eyes lively and sharp, he was showing his age a bit, but he knew his stuff. Merlin had relied on his expertise for more than a few crises in their long time together.

Still, he was smiling as he said, “Merlin, it’s good to hear from you. Things are on track. I’ve finalised the latest acquisition, and we can sign the papers next week. Can you come into London on Thursday?”

Honestly, Merlin had forgotten all about it. At least, it would be a wholly owned company, fairly small but thankfully not part of a consortium. He’d hate to have had to quash the sale after all they’d done to acquire it.

“Thursday will be fine.” Taking a deep breath, Merlin said, “I’m going to put a bit of a hold on any other acquisitions. I’ve come up with some issues that need more immediate attention. Things are going to change pretty quickly in the next few weeks. Usually I would come in and discuss it, and I will when I see you next, but for now, we need to move fast.” Merlin was getting nervous.

Victor was smarter than most. He must have seen that Merlin wasn’t his normal calm self, but he didn’t call him on it, he said, “Merlin, we didn’t discuss this at our last meeting. What’s going on?”

Merlin gave a long, drawn-out sigh, then squaring his shoulders, he looked at Victor with steady eyes.

He said, “Things are going to come out about me, things that some people may object to.” When Victor started to ask what was going on, Merlin cut across his questions. “No, I’ve not killed anyone or done anything wrong, but there’s a few things in my past that may cause my companies and you a bit of a problem.”

Victor looked worried, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he said, “You aren’t Hitler in disguise, are you? Or old Myrddin returned with the Once and Future King?”

A little too close to the mark, but of course, Victor would joke about Merlin. It was his name after all.

Giving him a little shrug, Merlin said, “No, not Hitler, no, but once the press starts poking around, they will be hounding you and anyone in the organization. If that’s going to be an issue, I will understand if you want to leave.”

Not wanting to downplay the issues, but he wasn’t going to lie to someone he’d relied on for so many years.

Victor must have realised that Merlin wasn’t joking, that this was deadly serious. His eyes narrowed a moment, then sitting back, letting out a breath, he said, “We’ve known each other a long time. Unless you’re a mass murderer, I’m still here. So, what do you need?”

A huge weight seemed to lift off Merlin’s shoulders. He hadn’t realised how much he’d wanted Victor to understand. He just hoped someday he would and that it would be okay after all. But he didn’t have time for small talk.

Nodding, Merlin said, “I will be emailing you a list of properties to buy as quickly as you can. I would prefer that we buy them already furnished, but if not, put enough money aside to furnish them later. I will be turning them over to the Albion Trust, a charitable organization that I’m funding as soon as the sales are complete. I’ll send you all the particulars on the Trust once this call is done.”

Victor was already writing things down on the pad next to his desk. “How many are we talking about? Cost estimates?”

Looking down at the list, Merlin said, “Seven to start, all in the countryside. Some will likely have quite a bit of land with them, but I don’t expect them to be outrageously over-priced. But we need to buy them all at once. Once the realtors get wind of what we are doing, they will jack up the prices quite a bit.”

Staring down at his pad, a frown making him seem formidable, still Victor wasn’t going to be pushed into something he thought Merlin might be foolish about. He said, “And why are we buying them?”

At least in this, Merlin could be completely above board. “They are going to be teaching centres and places to live for some. We’ll start small but we may be buying several more later.”

Victor seemed to process that a while. “Are these refugee centres or clinics or shelters of some kind? Charities? Any special requirements? And you do realise that we could take tax exemptions if we play our cards right.”

“I’ll leave that to you. You can look over the Trust and see if it’s allowed, but I don’t want any problems. If too many questions and objections are raised, it’s better to forgo it.” Victor looked surprised at that, but Merlin said, “I would call them refugee centres, although most of them will be from the UK, but I can imagine some would object to that description. There will be an influx of people for a while. All ages.”

“I’ll get Rolf in acquisitions on it as soon as we get the list.” Victor was busy writing down something, then looked up expectantly. “Is that all?”

Merlin held his breath a moment, then jumping in with both feet, feeling like he was in freefall, he said, “Good. Next, I want to sell all of my publicly traded stock immediately and turn it into cash.”

Merlin had never seen him so flummoxed. “What?”

Waiting until the colour came back into Victor’s face, Merlin said, “Things are bad and likely to get worse. Put about half of it into high yield bonds with various maturity dates for a stable cash flow. I’ll need to access the rest for more property buys and supporting the Albion Trust. I do expect to buy back stock after the markets settle. But when the news hits about me, any public stock we are associated with will lose money fast. So, I want to protect what I can.” With Victor’s mouth opening and closing like a dying fish, Merlin waited a moment before saying, “The companies I own wholly, I’ll keep. I expect their value will decline as well for a while, but in the long run, it should be fine.”

“What the hell did you do?” Merlin had never heard Victor swear before. It shook him a little.

But he shoved that aside. “It will become clear in the next month or so, but I want to get ahead of it. Seriously, though, I didn’t do anything wrong, but some people won’t be happy with me or anyone associated with me or my companies.”

At that, Victor put down his pen, looked Merlin straight in the eye and said, “I need a vacation.”

Apparently, Victor was worried enough that he needed to make sure it was really Merlin and not someone pretending to be him.

“I hear Ealdor is nice this time of year but clotpoles live there,” Merlin said, using the countersign. “Look, it really is me, but it’s urgent so I’ve wanted to get things rolling. We can talk further on Thursday when I come in.”

Victor looked like he was still processing all the changes. But he was always and ever reliable. He said, “Very well.”

Still, it took a while before Victor took up his pen again. Since it was one of the things that Merlin used to gauge how much Victor was on board with Merlin’s wishes, it was a good sign.

Nodding, Merlin said, “Next, our charities. The ones we fund, I want to transfer them to outside groups if possible. Find out from our charity heads what they think they can do, but keep it quiet. Just tell them I’ve rethought my life and that they’d be better off with another association. We will continue to fund them but anonymously. Again, transfer them all at once, but after we sell the stock and buy the properties. So in about a week?”

The pen went down again. Victor certainly didn’t look happy. “That’s a hell of a lot to do in a week. Can we spread it out to two? Talking with charities that we’ve not associated with might take some time.”

Merlin knew it might be a problem. “If it can’t be done, we’ll keep what charities we can, but it’s more that they probably will want to distance themselves for the time being. It’s for their protection, not mine. We can’t change what has happened in the past, but if we can shield them and the people we serve, then it should be okay.”

Victor was scowling by this time. “Merlin, this is massive. You may think that the financial sector isn’t aware of your holdings, but you aren’t that small a fish.”

“But compared to bigger fish, I’m just a minnow.” It was true. Compared with the billionaires roaming the world, he was not even worth mentioning — and he liked it that way. “Anyway, one final thing.”

Merlin reached over and pulled Arthur into the frame. Victor’s scowl deepened. Merlin could only imagine what he was thinking. It didn’t matter. In the end, it was Merlin’s money to do with as he saw fit. But the pen was still sitting by Victor’s writing pad.

“This is Dr Arthur Drake. He’s been doing archaeological research on my property. I told you about him last time I was in London, and no, I’m not transferring money to him so don’t even think that he’s some kind of stealthy gold-digger or boy toy.” Arthur glared at Merlin for a moment. Merlin ignored it. Instead, he said, ‘Arthur has enough money of his own. His father is CEO of Pendragon Inc. if that makes you feel any better.”

Victor looked like he’d swallowed something disgusting and didn’t know whether he should swallow or if he should spit it out. Finally, he sighed and nodded toward Arthur. “Not really, but it’s your money and you’ve been a wizard at monetary issues before so… hello, Dr Drake.”

That was a relief. Merlin said, “Arthur will be helping me set up the training centres. He’s also going to be helping me rebuild the castle on my property.”

Shaking his head, not quite rolling his eyes, Victor said, “Ah, so that’s why you need the money. You do know that it will cost millions of pounds to do it properly and it will continue to be a money pit after. It’s a very poor investment.”

He was right, of course, if it was just manual labour and reconstruction costs, it would be exorbitantly expensive, but Merlin’s magic had already saved them millions. And he wasn’t worried about the other issues. Merlin said, “You’ll be surprised at how little it will cost, but we’ll need to add heating, plumbing, and other facilities for overnight guests and conferences. I’ll send you the estimates tomorrow.”

Folding his hands, Victor stared at Merlin a few moments, then said, “Merlin, you know you can tell me anything. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I have a lot of respect for what you’d accomplished. Can you give me any hint at all?”

More than anything, Merlin wished he could tell Victor the truth, but it was better this way. “You’ll be better off not knowing for the moment. That way, you can say with absolute truthfulness that you had no idea.” When Victor nodded, Merlin said, “One final thing, for the companies we do keep, if anyone wants to quit, offer them severance with an NDA. I don’t want anyone to lose their livelihood over this, but I also don’t want them lying about me or my companies, either.”

“Merlin….”

Oh, when Victor used that voice, Merlin almost gave in. He was sick of lies and hiding and soon enough, Victor would know. Merlin only hoped it wouldn’t make any difference in their friendship.

“Victor, you’ve been an amazing friend and one I’d hate to lose, but I’ll understand, if in the end, you don’t want to be associated with me. What we are doing here is entirely legal and hopefully not going to hurt anyone, but I want you to know that I’d love for you to stay once things become clear.”

He must have realised that Merlin wasn’t going to tell him. So, he just nodded, “I’ll get right on things.” Then picking up his pen, writing something down on his note pad, Victor said, “Merlin, take care of yourself and I’ll see you Thursday.”

And with that, the call ended.

For a long while, Merlin didn’t say anything. Arthur was a solid presence next to him, silent and supportive, but finally he reached over and punched Merlin’s arm.

“I had no idea you knew that much about business.” Arthur said. “Always thought you were a bit of an idiot. Just stumbling into money, a few coins here, a bit of cash there. You never had any in Camelot.”

Merlin looked at him as if he’d just realised what an idiot Arthur was. Finally, glaring at him, Merlin said, “I was sending almost all of it to my mum. And paying Gaius rent and having to replace my clothes so much because they were always getting ripped up rescuing you.”

Looking offended for a moment, then Arthur’s gaze softened. “I hope Victor will stay onboard. I can see he’s important to you.”

Merlin leaned over and gave Arthur’s arm a hard punch back. “Not as important as you, cabbagehead.”

Smiling, Arthur dove in for a quick kiss, then pulled back, frowning. “Can you turn back now? It’s like kissing my grandfather.”

“You have no idea.” Then Merlin laughed and snogged him senseless.


	30. Chapter 30

Soon after, Arthur was busy with architects and plumbers and such. Morgana had used her own magic, not the magical kind but her beauty and acumen in her business, to get one of her friends to come up with blueprints much quicker than Merlin had expected. And Gwen, bless her, contacted the firm she used to work at to expedite building materials and labourers to start almost immediately once the plans were finalised. She, in the meantime, was busy with the website and adverts, checking in with Morgana and Taliesin for final approval.

While Merlin was in London signing contracts and trying to calm Victor down — after all, it was a huge undertaking, Rhain, the pain in Merlin’s arse from the Druid meeting, actually stepped up. He arranged for some furnishings to be delivered to the castle, desks and bedroom furniture, and whatever could be set up without getting in the way.

It seemed that everyone was pitching in. Once the houses were purchased, stocking up on supplies, arranging for bedding and such, it almost seemed like they would be ready for Midwinter Solstice. Even before then, some of the newly magical were calling the Druids, looking for help. Word of mouth spread as more and more began to appear.

And then there was no more time.

Arthur had been in close conference all the evening before Winter Solstice, talking with Taliesin about what was going to happen. The Druid council had finally decided that Arthur would be a good spokesman for this event, a man unassociated with magic but willing to speak up for them and it. And moreover, they’d finally come around to Arthur taking on the mantle of the business side of Albion Trust, leaving them to manage all the magical issues that would come up.

Arthur was thrilled, if the smug smile he gave Merlin later was any indication. Merlin was relieved. He’d been worried about Arthur for a while, especially after Merlin’s rebuild of the castle, and now it would seem that Arthur had a purpose again. More than just Merlin’s king, but as a leader.

Still, Merlin was nervous. Not necessarily about in the ceremony around the Solstice but afterwards. But when Arthur bounced around, as happy as a puppy with a new treat, Merlin smiled and called him clotpole for old times’ sake.

It was still dark when they left for Stonehenge. Merlin gave Arthur an ankle-length coat, so reminiscent of Arthur’s old brown one that Arthur was speechless for a moment, then handed Arthur Excalibur and helped him buckle it on. It seemed to settle Arthur. And that was good enough for Merlin.

The Druids and their allies had gathered at Stonehenge before it opened, a nod from those at English Heritage who oversaw the site. Purifying the stones and surrounding grassy areas, ridding the air of darkness and ill intent, they were gathered in quiet contemplation by the time Arthur and Merlin arrived.

The early morning air was cold and clear. The stars overhead were sharp as diamonds, the sliver of new moon hanging over the stones like a talisman. Once in a while, meteors streaked across the darkness, bright lines in the sky, and the growing crowds would ‘ooh’ and ‘ahh’ at the sight. It seemed almost magical.

Merlin had been to several of the summer solstices but only one or two of the winter ones. It was funny, that, because among some, it was called Alban Arthuan, The Light of Arthur. It would remain to be seen if they still felt the same way by the end of the day.

Arthur was standing to one side near Taliesin. His hand kept drifting down to hold onto the hilt of his sword. Merlin had warned him that swords were not really allowed except in specific circumstances in the UK, but it was a special day, one worthy of Excalibur, and Merlin didn’t think it would be that much of a problem when all was said and done.

The crowd was growing restive, though, with the carnival-like atmosphere. People in costume and fake Druids in their robes and bearing crystals wandered around. The sellers of charms and hawkers of all kinds with food and drink and rubbish t-shirt shouted for customers. Tourists talked loudly of where they’ll go for lunch and wasn’t it cold and how soon would it be over. It was almost as if it were a Medieval faire and not something sacred.

But among the multitude, Merlin could feel the stirrings of magic. In his head, the tentative whispers of true Druids and other magical beings were a soft counterpoint to the rising noise of the throng. Little pinpricks of brightness in the dark.

In the east, the sky was already lightening, and the crowds quieted, breathless in waiting for the coming dawn.

Taliesin moved to the centre of the circle, the mob parting to let him through, as though sensing that the spectacle was about to begin. Around him, the rest of the magic users waited quietly, Arthur situated just behind Taliesin. Merlin stood further off near one of the trilithons so that he could get a good view of it all. He didn’t want to interfere with something so important, and in many ways, it wasn’t his place, not just then. In the distance, he could just make out Morgana dressed in green robes, still looking like a fashion icon even then, and some of the others that had stormed the castle and then later come to his house for that fateful meeting.

Raising his arms, as the crowd went silent, Taliesin began to chant.

“Look to the east, oh children of the earth,  
Look and watch the rising of the sun.  
For the shortest day of the year has come.  
Long gone is summer. The fields are buried under  
Cold and sleep, awaiting your return.  
Winter is here, and yet even in the coldest days before us,  
You bring us warmth and hope.  
Awaken, oh sun, show us the tenderness of your embrace.  
We welcome your return and a new day dawning.”

With each word, Merlin could feel magic rising, growing stronger as if pulled from the earth by the dawn’s light. There was a tranquil hum underneath it all, the Druid voices in his head quiet but with a kind of joy that resonated not with words but love and hope and a longing for a new day. For a moment, Merlin wondered if anyone else felt it, that surge in exhalation. But he put it aside and watched the ceremony.

The crowd turned as one toward the sun which was beginning to peek over the horizon. Taliesin said, “Rejoice! The darkness grows dim and soon the circle of light will bring life back to the earth.”

Off to Taliesin’s left, Brigit stepped forward, her clear voice ringing in the still morning air. Gesturing left, she said, “Look to the North: snows melt in the sun’s great light. Rejoice.”

Then Airmid stepped forward in front of Taliesin, chanting, “Look to the East: the sun rises, the sun warms us all. Rejoice.”

Another Druid, tall, with a triskelion tattooed on his neck, swept his arm across his chest, pointing southward. “Look to the South: birds of the air return with the sun’s light. Rejoice.”

Behind Taliesin, facing away from the light, was a final voice, Rhain by the looks of him. “Look to the West: the great sun slumbers to return again with the dawn. Rejoice.”

Then they all turned as one, back toward the sunlight now streaming across the stones, their voices mingling as they said, “All hail the waiting sun. Rise up and return to us. Rejoice, rejoice, rejoice.”

As the other Druids melted back into the crowd, Taliesin stepped forward once more, saying, “All, repeat after me.” Then with each line, the crowd’s voices grew as he said, “We swear by peace and love to stand, Heart to heart and hand to hand. Mark, O spirit, and hear us now, Confirming this our sacred vow.”

And as he turned around, his arms sweeping across the people and the land that had been sacred before man’s memory, he said rejoice one final time. Then as the crowd gave a loud cheer, thinking the ceremony was over, Taliesin motioned for quiet.

Apparently, that was not the normal way of things. People near the edge of the crowd were whispering, questioning, but seeming to shrug off their objections, curious to see what would happen next. The hawkers didn’t look happy, though. And some of the families were already inching their way toward the parking lots.

But magic was growing stronger. Merlin could almost taste the anticipation in the air.

Taliesin nodded toward Arthur, pulling him forward. “Welcome here, Arthur Pendragon Drake. He has a message for us all, an important one which must be said.” 

For a moment, Arthur looked almost bashful. Then he stepped forward, taking out Excalibur and nudging the tip into the earth, one hand resting on the hilt. A few people looked askance at it and then him, stepping back out of the sword’s reach just in case. But no one called him out on it.

In a clear, ringing voice, one that Merlin had heard so many times before when Camelot’s need was greatest, Arthur said, “People of Albion, it is a day of celebration. A new day and a new dawning of the age of magic.”

That seemed to stop any whispering in the back. Even those who had started to wander away began to return.

Pausing a moment, letting the nay-sayers settle down, Arthur said, “For too long, those with magic were laughed at, or in hiding. For too long, they have been ridiculed or hunted or killed, just because of an ability that they thought they alone possessed. Afraid of others finding out, afraid of themselves, afraid of the past and the future and the present.”

Arthur looked out into the crowd, his eyes seeking those who would listen. Even from where Merlin was standing, he could see that people were paying attention, although they were looking at each other as if confused by it all.

Straightening up, his hair golden in the growing sunlight, Excalibur shining bright, he looked like the very embodiment of a king. As he always and would ever be.

His voice growing stronger, almost magical in how it carried across the crowd, Arthur said, “I tell you now, those who have gathered here. Look to your right and to your left, look to your mothers and fathers, to your children, to your brothers and sisters, aunts and uncles, friends and neighbours. For among you are those with magic, and they are more than you know.”

People were looking at each other and shrugging for the most part, but there were some that seemed almost afraid, their eyes darting around as if worried they’d be discovered. As Merlin reached out with his magic, there were sparks there in golds and greens and blues. At least, something was getting through to those who really needed to hear the message.

Arthur gave a little nod, as if he could hear the multitude snickering at what he was saying, but it didn’t stop him. Instead, he acknowledged it. “I can hear your laughter, the ridicule already rising, but know this. They will be coming into their own.”

Putting both hands on Excalibur, he leaned forward, the sun on his face, both him and the sword dazzling in the light. There seemed to be an aura of magic surrounding him, too, building, building towards something unknown.

“Welcome them, the people of the earth and sky, welcome them, your family, with open arms and open hearts,” Arthur said, then looked around, bowing slightly to the crowd a moment, before straightening up again. “And to those who magic has already claimed, know that we are here for you. Taliesin has already welcomed the dawn’s rising sun. And now Albion Trust with its places of refuges, places of peace and learning, will welcome you, too. Come home.”

Then raising up the sword, letting the sun’s light dance across it, he shouted, “For magic. For Albion.”

Merlin didn’t know what to expect, that the crowds would surge Arthur and carry him off in triumph, that they’d turn on him and tear him to pieces, that they’d laugh and go to the hawkers for cheap crystals and psychic readings.

But nothing prepared him for what happened next.

As the sunlight hit Excalibur, suddenly the sword was floating just above Arthur, its blade glowing blue, growing brighter, almost sun brilliant as Merlin watched. Those nearest Arthur were already scrambling back out of the way. In the next moment, there were shafts of light shooting outward from it, reaching up and then across, hitting each stone in its turn, until the whole of Stonehenge was under a curtain of light, the standing stones pulsing in blue brilliance.

To Merlin, as he stood there looking around, it felt like being encased in the earth and sky, so full of light and beauty that he could barely breathe. Joy unbounded, acceptance and love and peace all wrapped up in a magical cocoon, waiting to be released.

There was screams, then, and a surge of people trying to escape, but others were standing there, looking upward, watching the blue radiance dancing across the stones, reaching out to touch it. Some must have had magic because the light would curl around their fingertips before swirling away, but others were just watching or pulling out their phones and filming it all.

It seemed to last an eternity, then as the sun rose higher, the light faded, drifting off into the air and away from the stones. And finally, Excalibur drifted down, and back into Arthur’s grasp. Just a sword, held in one hand by a man who was swaying as if he’d faint at any moment.

Taliesin was there, holding him up and Morgana was whispering in his ear, but it wasn’t until Merlin could push his way through the crowds that he saw how pale Arthur looked.

“Guess they know now that magic exists, huh, Merlin?” Arthur murmured.

As Arthur slumped to the ground, for a moment, Merlin thought Arthur had fainted, but Arthur was always stubborn.

Shaking his head, looking up at Merlin, Arthur whispered, “Can’t let them see how weak I am. Maybe you could give me a bit of a boost?”

“I’m not Gaius. I don’t have a potion for every time you get into trouble, you know.” Merlin scowled down at him. It was a pretty impressive bit of magic. He wondered who had done it, since no one thought to ask him. “Dollophead, when we get home, I swear I’ll sit on you.”

“Kinky,” Arthur said, then looked over to a couple of determined people coming their way. “Heads up. The reporters are almost here.”

Struggling to his feet, gathering himself to answer the inevitable questions, Arthur shrugged off Druid arms and Merlin’s hands. Instead, he thrust the sword into his belt, then pulled his coat tighter around his chest. Arthur had faced monsters and armies of the dead. A pair of reporters was nothing to that.

As the film crew and local news people began to pepper Arthur and Taliesin with questions about what was going on, Taliesin talking about magic and its resurgence, Arthur talking about the Albion Trust and its goals, Morgana pulled Merlin aside. “Look after him tonight. We channelled a lot of energy through him and he might be feeling it later.”

Merlin knew that he should have been included. His magic was so much stronger than most of them that it would have made sense. “Why did you do that? I could have….”

Morgana grabbed his arm and dragged him, grumbling, away from the crowd, into the grassy area beyond the circle. Leaning forward, her voice low, she said, “Merlin, he… he needs to be needed. If you take over everything, what does he have left?”

“I would never….” Merlin couldn’t believe that she’d think that of him. Never mind that Arthur had said something of the same thing before.

Morgana just gave him a look, disbelief and irritation in her eyes. “Yes, you would. You already have.” When Merlin glared back at her, she said, “And don’t look like I just kicked your favourite puppy. He needs to stand on his own. He was glad to do it when I suggested it.”

“It was dangerous. He hasn’t any magic in him. If things had gone wrong….” Merlin was wringing his hands, biting at his lip. As he glanced back, in the distance he could see Arthur standing there, calming answering questions. Looking every inch the king Merlin knew him to be. Still, the thought of Arthur hurt or worse was pressing against his heart.

Morgana must have realised that he was that worried. “But it didn’t.” She reached over, giving him a little shake and a fleeting smile. “Merlin, Arthur may not have magic, but he’s sensitive to it and it was easy to channel magic through him. Besides, he was eager to help. He didn’t tell you because he knew you would object.”

“Damn right I would have objected. Did he even understand that kind of power? He wasn’t… if it had gone pear-shaped, he could have been… gods above, Morgana, I could have lost him.” Merlin looked over to see Arthur smiling at something Taliesin said. Forcing himself to calm down, seeing that Arthur was alright after all, that he couldn’t always protect him much as he might want to, Merlin said, “That man is an idiot.”

“Takes one to know one,” Morgana said. “Besides, I knew ahead of time that it would be fine. It was a rather spectacular display.”

Knowing that she was right, Merlin looked down at the ground and nodded. “I could feel the magic breaking free. The ground here is saturated with it. Thousands of years of worship and sacrifice.”

“Some of that will find its way to other sites, Avebury, Glastonbury Tor, Castlerigg Circle near the Lake District. Kilmartin Glen. Following the lines of power.” Morgana seemed almost pleased at the thought. “They will light up as well, at least for a little while.”

The thought of magical sites suddenly alight with power filled him with trepidation, but then he’d always been one to hide in the shadows. Even now, he wanted to sink back into obscurity and become no one again. It was safer but no longer possible.

“There were magic users here, some nearly come to their power,” Merlin said. He nodded off toward the stone circle and the thinning crowds. “Weak but with time and training, a new force for good.”

“Olwen and Brigid are talking to them. They are less intimidating that Rhain….” She grinned. “Or me.”

“Arthur will lose any credibility with the British Archaeological Association after this. He’ll never be able to work on a dig again.” Merlin was worried that Arthur would be depressed about it. After all, he’d gone through uni, getting a PhD and then post-grad work, headed up digs, and had some renown as a serious, dedicated archaeologist. Now all that would be behind him. Merlin had to wonder if this new reality would be enough for Arthur.

“Merlin, he already knew that. He’s not happy about it, but he’s found a new calling. With you and the Albion Trust.” When Merlin sighed, a long drawn-out worried one, Morgana reached over and patted his arm. “Look, I know you have issues. Hell, you’ve always hidden who and what you are, even back in the day. But Arthur needs to be out there, standing fully in the light, leading the way.”

She glanced toward Arthur, standing there talking with reporters and Druids, and looking for all like a king holding court. “He’ll be magnificent… but don’t you dare tell him I said so. He’s got a big enough head as it is.”

Merlin gave a little laugh. “He always did have a fat head. I love him all the more for it.”

“Take care of him. There’s another ceremony tonight when the sun sets,” she said.

When Merlin started to walk toward Arthur, Morgana pulled him back, shaking her head. “No, he’s not needed for that one. Not any magical extravaganza at least. He’ll have to answer questions about the Trust, but Taliesin said that Bodhmall and Airmid will handle the magical aspects. Something simple like flowers blooming or butterflies. Maybe mistletoe vines encasing the Sarsen stones, although I’m sure English Heritage wouldn’t be happy with that.” Morgana’s voice hardened, sounding serious. “Arthur needs to rest. Sit on him if you have to. And no funny business until at least tomorrow.”

Merlin glared at her a moment. “Funny business? Really?”

She rolled her eyes, then said, “Fine, no fucking, then. I’ll know.” Her smile turned wicked and she lifted one eyebrow as though mocking him.

He didn’t want to think about what that meant, whether she was messing with his head or could really see what he and Arthur were up to in the late hours of the night. He said, half-horrified, “You aren’t using the crystals, are you?”

“No, don’t be ridiculous.” Then she seemed to think better of whatever game she was playing, giving out a little snicker instead as she said, “Arthur gets this loopy look on his face afterwards. Bit of a bumbling idiot when he’s in love.”

“Morgana….” said Merlin, exasperated.

Her gaze flicked toward the stones, then said, “Will I see you at the wedding?”

Merlin glared for a moment, then said, “Yes. And changing the subject isn’t….” Then as a hand warmed his back, he turned around to find Arthur standing next to him. “Finished already?”

Arthur looked at him like he was a cabbbagehead. “Until later,” Arthur said. “I’m starving. There’s food at the café at the visitor’s centre.”

As Morgana drifted away, Merlin looked down at Excalibur. “They won’t let a sword into the café. But wait a moment.” With a wave of his hand and a brief ‘ _behȳde’_ , the sword still there but invisible, he tugged on Arthur’s hand, pulling him toward the shuttle and food. “That’s better. Let’s go.”

Arthur didn’t say much, just shovelled food into his mouth as if he hadn’t eaten in a month. Merlin watched for any ill effects, but it looked like Arthur was fine.

Merlin also didn’t press him for details as to why Arthur hadn’t said anything about what had happened that morning. It was pretty clear that Morgana was right, much as Merlin didn’t want to admit it, that Arthur needed a purpose beyond being with Merlin, that he needed to be something more than just a lover. And Merlin loved him enough to realise that love wasn’t always enough to make a relationship work. Sometimes, letting go in order to make the other person happy was the only way to show them how much they _were_ loved.

So instead of hounding Arthur about magic and Excalibur, Merlin talked about Lance and Gwen’s wedding that they’d be attending in a few weeks and how well the plumbing installation was coming along at the castle.

Arthur must have realised what Merlin was doing. He didn’t call Merlin on it, though, just gave him a little smile and ate a scone slathered in clotted crème and jam.

But before they left, before they went back to the madness of crowds and magic and duty, Arthur said, “Thank you for understanding and not making a fuss about the ceremony — much as I know you want to do.”

Merlin leaned over and kissed away the jam on the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “I love you, you arse. And now, once more into the breach.”

Arthur grinned.


	31. Chapter 31

The newspapers were not kind. Mostly laughing about it, wondering if a new magic show was touring around the UK, or just complaining about tricks and nonsense, still it got the message across to those in need. The Albion Trust was there for the newly magical and little by little, they slowly trickled in.

There were hiccups, of course. Not all those who used magic were pure of heart, and some police bureaus, a little more open-minded or at least struggling with what to do about it, came to them, asking for help. They mostly wanted to know who the frauds were, if it was indeed just reading body language or was it something more.

In most cases, no magic was involved, but with those who were using magic for nefarious ends, the Druids handled it. After all, they had magic and Merlin’s books and old oral traditions to come up with solutions. And they knew if things got a bit sticky, there were bracelets of cold iron to use and spells to tamp down magical ability – although always as a last resort.

But Arthur had suggested that they set up a legal team, just in case, in that first meeting, and they were now prepared for any issues that might arise.

Arthur grew busier and busier as the days passed, settling into his new role. It suited him. And since Arthur was happy, Merlin was, too.

However, when the news finally broke about Merlin Industries and the link to Albion Trust — obviously some reporters dug deeper than others, he got a rather frantic call from Victor.

He didn’t have time to change back to his older form, but it was past time that Victor saw him for who he was anyway. “Victor, before you start, just so you know. This is what I really look like and yes, I have magic. I always have.”

Victor was scowling in disbelief. “I don’t have time for this nonsense. Put on Merlin Emrys.”

Merlin shook his head. “Want to tell me you are going on vacation?”

Eyes widening, then narrowing, Victor said, “I want to speak with Merlin Emrys.”

In most instances, stubbornness was a great trait in a CFO. In this case, it would seem he’d have to talk to Victor in person. “All right, I do understand that you are a bit confused about it all. Would you like to come here, or should I go to London?”

“Mr Emrys should come to London. Just so I know that he’s not being manipulated by some… young bloke.” He said it with such distaste that Merlin wanted to roll his eyes.

Trying not to sigh, Merlin said, “Very well. There’s a later train today. I or rather Merlin Emrys will be there about five. Is that satisfactory?”

“If he isn’t, I will be calling the police.” And with that, Victor hung up.

Well, he had to arranged for Lance and Gwen’s wedding present anyway. So off to London, he went.

Arthur was too busy to come with him, but just a few minutes before five, Merlin, in his old form, walked into Victor’s office.

Within a few seconds, Victor was shaking his hand, his other hand hard against Merlin’s shoulder, and guiding him into the most comfortable chair in the room. The office was a mix of old wood, leather chairs, books lining the shelves, and a floor to ceiling window overlooking the Thames. There was a tea trolley with cakes and sandwiches, a pot of tea warming, and a bottle of Scotch just in case.

Merlin figured the Scotch would be the first thing Victor would need. Merlin, on the other hand, reached for sandwiches and poured himself a cup of tea. And then handed a half-full glass of Scotch to Victor.

As soon as Merlin was settled, Victor said, “Your video conferencing line has been hacked. Some young kid was claiming to be you. He even knew about our passwords.” Victor sat down across from Merlin. “I was honestly surprised when you showed up. I was about to call the police.”

For a moment, Merlin didn’t know what to say. Instead he nodded toward Victor’s glass. “Drink up. I’ve some things to show you and I’m not sure you won’t need a bit of courage first.”

Victor ignored the implications, instead said, “Do you know the boy?”

“I am the boy, Victor. I have magic. The newspapers are correct.” Victor was scowling at him, but it was time to let him know the truth. “I’m glad you are sitting down. Because this is not a trick.”

With that, he said, “ _Ontȳne_.”

He could feel himself growing younger, but it was the look on Victor’s face that was priceless. For several moments, he looked like some beached fish, gulping for air, then he said, “Fuck.”

Victor was never so vulgar. Merlin leaned over and shoved the Scotch back into his hand, watching him as Victor downed it in one.

“Fuck,” he said again. “Who the hell are you?”

Merlin gave a little sigh. “I’m Merlin. Always have been. I’ve just been morphing into young and old me depending on the situation and how long I’ve known a person. Wouldn’t want someone to figure out that I’ve lived longer than most. People get unhappy about that.”

For several seconds, Victor just looked at him, frowning, obviously trying to come to grips with this new information. Then he said, “How old are you? Because I’ve known you for thirty years and you look younger than the day I met you.”

“Are you sure you want to know?” Merlin said.

Victor nodded, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, does it? Because it would seem that the rumours are true. You’ve got magic or you are associated with magic users and well… I didn’t really know you at all.”

“I’m no different. Just because my face is not what you are used to, I’m still the same person. And I still value your insight and your friendship,” Merlin said, quiet and a little sad. After all, he’d lost so many friends over the centuries, but it always hurt. “But I’ll understand if you want to distance yourself. If you remember, I told you that last time I was here, and the time before that.”

“I thought you meant you had a mistress or a boatload of illegitimate kids somewhere, not… magic.” Victor was up and pacing, running his fingers through his short hair. “Who the fuck would think it was magic? There’s no such thing… at least I thought that… I mean Harry Potter is fiction, isn’t it?”

Merlin had heard that question more than a few times recently. “Yes, Harry Potter is fiction. Rowling made the whole thing up. She knows as much about magic as I do about quantum physics.”

Victor sat back down again, started to pour himself another glass of Scotch, but he must have thought better of it, because, instead, he put the glass down, and sat there a while, staring at Merlin. Finally, he said, “I’m… so magic is real, then?”

For a moment, Merlin didn’t say anything. It hurt to see how distant Victor was, but it couldn’t be helped. It wasn’t unexpected, but still, he wished it could be… different. “Yes, it’s been underground for a while, mainly because people tend to get lethally unhappy about people with magic. And it would still be underground, but things have changed. More and more people will discover they have magic and they’ll need training and understanding and a lot of love.”

Victor seemed to think about it, a long, long time. Then he nodded. “That’s what the centres are for. And the castle.”

“That will be our administrative office headquarters. We will also have conferences there and some guest suites for people before they go to the centres.” Merlin said.

“And the money? There’s a hell of a lot of it in cash right now.” Victor seemed to be relaxing. Whether it was the Scotch kicking in or he realised that Merlin was still Merlin, no matter what face he wore, Merlin took it to be a good sign.

“When things settle, I expect to reinvest.” Merlin stared out the window for a moment. The sky was tinged pink, and the first of London’s lights were coming on. In the distance, the London Eye brightened. Merlin always enjoyed the view. The modern age was in many ways a wonder, even without magic. “But that’s not why you called me here, is it?”

Victor must have decided Scotch was not the best idea. He poured himself a cup of tea and sat there, drinking it slowly before saying, “I wanted to make sure you knew about the rumours. And some of the charities we help fund are a bit miffed that we’ve kept the information from them. They have been getting lots of calls from their other donors.”

Merlin shrugged. “They can cut all ties with us if they wish. It’s really their choice.”

Putting the teacup aside, Victor leaned forward, looking concerned. “We’ve also had some instances of vandalism at Merlin Industries. Mostly hate speech but the police took care of that. But there have been accusations of misuse of funds and your manipulation of the markets. And as you thought, there has been some pressure on your wholly owned companies.”

“All expected. I didn’t use magic, though, just my long years of experience.” Merlin gave a long, sad sigh. It was pretty obvious that there would be accusations. There always were. “But if they must, don’t push back too hard on any investigation. They’ll find nothing really. And as for the pressure, it happens. Once the public realises that we still make good products, they’ll come around. I’m not worried.”

With that, Victor got up and walked to the window, staring out at the growing night. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, frowning. Merlin got up and joined him there, then turned toward the skyline. He watched as the ferries slipped past, their lights bright with the holidays, the cars in the distance making white and red lines as evening traffic wound its way home. And in the glass, Victor’s reflection was staring back at him.

“Merlin, what are you? Are you even human?”

And there it was, the accusation that followed magic users and sorcerers and Druids all their lives. That it was said quietly didn’t make it any less horrifying. That Merlin expected it didn’t make it any less sad.

Merlin turned toward him, looking to see if there was condemnation in his eyes. But instead, it was curiosity and a little bit of fear of the unknown. So, he answered it honestly. “As far as I know, yes. Both parents were.” Shrugging, he said, “Look, Victor, I’m just me with a few extra abilities. Magic is like any other tool, for good or ill.”

“And the fact that you’ve lived longer, that you can change your appearance apparently with a single word?” Victor said.

“As far as I know, I’m unique in the living longer aspect. Those with magic live a normal life, live and die as others would, bleed when cut, get sick like everyone else, have mortgages and bills, take the car to the garage when it needs to be fixed, worry about their kids and their aging parents.” Merlin felt as if he was arguing the whole of magic’s existence to this man he’d known for decades. He’d hoped that Victor would be better than that. Or maybe he was just worried that it was only the start. “Yes, some can change their appearance but there’s always a cost. When I’m old Merlin, I have the same aches and pains any old man would have. Honestly, it’s a relief to change back. When I’m old, my back hurts, my feet hurt, I have a hard time catching my breath, and I need to pee a lot more.”

Victor snickered at that.

“Yes, I have power, more than most. But it always comes with a cost. Always.” Merlin said, remembering some of the costs in his life. The pain, the deaths, Will, Gaius, his mum, Arthur. The loss of friends, of love. The endless wait over the centuries. The worry that once Arthur was done with uniting Albion and dies — because he would in the end, Merlin would be left behind again. Forever alone.

Watching him, softly, Victor said, “Have you done… anything you wish you hadn’t?”

“Haven’t you?” Merlin snapped back, then gentled his voice, wanting Victor to understand just a little. “I know. That doesn’t answer the question. Yes, many things. I grew up in a vastly different environment, one much more violent than now. Very often it was hard just to stay alive. And there were times we were half-starved, bandits coming in and stealing the last of our seed corn, killing everyone in their path. It was truly to live or die by the sword. I’m not proud of what I’ve done, but I won’t ask for forgiveness for it.”

Victor looked away, back out into the darkness. The man was sharp and knowledgeable. He must have realised that Merlin wasn’t just talking about a life of a hundred years ago, but maybe a lot more. But Merlin didn’t push.

Finally, glancing at Merlin, Victor said, “And now?”

So, Victor was going to ignore the age thing for the moment. Merlin was relieved. It was hard enough thinking about how long he’d lived. Explaining it so someone who would never know the terror and loss of it just made it more difficult.

Merlin said, “I hope to integrate those with magic into society. They deserve to be free, to be part of a greater whole, not cowering in the shadows, afraid of everyone and everything. I hope you can understand that.”

“I did a stint in the army, saw a few things that I wish I hadn’t, but nothing coming close to what you are describing. But I do understand wanting to be part of a greater whole.” Gesturing for Merlin to stay, Victor walked back, grabbed a second tumbler and poured Scotch into it, then taking it and with his back to the window, he handed Merlin the second glass and said, “So just how powerful are you? I saw that Stonehenge video. It looked impressive but it wasn’t you doing it, was it?”

Merlin took a sip. It made him cough a little, but the fire going down his throat felt good. That Victor was looking at him, not as some kind of anomaly, but a friend he’d known for years, was warmer than the Scotch.

Smiling, Merlin said, “No, some of the others when they work as a unit can bring about some spectacular visual magic. But the true magic is in growing crops where none might grow, healing wounds that would otherwise be fatal, helping to protect those less fortunate.” He hesitated for a moment, wanting to make sure he wasn’t misreading Victor. “So will you stay? I could really use your help.”

Nodding, Victor said, “On one condition. That someday when I ask, you tell me about your life, some of the things you’ve seen. I suspect you’ve seen more than most.”

“So much more. And someday I might even tell you about the dragon.”

Victor choked on his Scotch. Merlin just grinned.


	32. Chapter 32

The day of Lance and Gwen’s wedding was clear and cold, the sky a bright blue, a blanket of fresh snow gleaming in the sunlight. Tree boughs bent with white, and there was a hush in the morning air. The chapel was wreathed in red and gold, the scent of rose and pine filling the air. It was perfect.

Except for the fact that the best man, aka Arthur, was running late.

Normally, Arthur was the epitome of punctuality, always organised and he’d really come into his own once he took over the Albion Trust’s administration. But this time, he’d woken late, couldn’t find the rings, lost his speech notes, went the wrong way down the road to the church even though it was right around the corner, and in general was completely off his head.

Merlin would have laughed at him, but he knew how important it was, so he used his magic to find the rings, the notes, and gently but firmly made him move over and turned the car around. At least Arthur remembered his trousers.

There weren’t that many people there. Gwen’s family was small and Lance’s even smaller, but they were surrounded by friends who dearly loved them, and it was pretty much everything a wedding should be.

As Gwen and Lance walked back down the aisle, hand in hand, married at last, Merlin whispered, “ _Buterfléoge welhecwen_.” And the church filled with blue butterflies, fluttering around, much to Gwen’s delight, before they burst into sparkles of gold, crowning the married couple with light.

“They look so happy.” Arthur sounded almost wistful. “I wish… they are perfect for each other.”

“Arthur, you aren’t… you’re happy, aren’t you?” Merlin didn’t mean it to come out like that but sometimes he still worried that it was all a dream and that he’d wake up alone and lost, waiting for another thousand years for someone who would never come.

“I can hear you thinking, you idiot.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “Yes, I’m happy. Yes, I’m glad that Lance and Gwen finally found each other, and yes, you and I are two sides of the same coin but obviously I’m the shinier side since you,” Arthur said, poking his finger into Merlin’s chest. “Are an idiot.”

“You said idiot twice.” Merlin gave him a little smile. “Finally run out of insults?”

“Never. I’ve a list.” Arthur waggled his eyebrows, making himself look ridiculous, making Merlin chuckle. Which must have been the point because Arthur said, “That’s better. And yes, I really am happy. And yes, I hope that later tonight I can show you just how much.”

With that, Arthur grabbed Merlin, pushing him into the alcove away from the happy throng, and gave him a thorough kiss. “Count that as a down payment, you arse.”

“Oh, my thruster of fleshy swords, I await your pleasure.” Merlin laughed, and then danced away, out of Arthur’s grip. “Later. I hear there’s cake.”

When they got back to the inn where the reception was being held, there was indeed cake, and dancing and lots of toasts. Gwen looked so flustered at times that Merlin thought she might catch fire for the colour in her cheeks, but Lance was ever attentive, and it was all very sweet.

Morgana came over, a flute of champagne in her hand. She was a little tipsy from toasting the happy couple so many times. “Lance’s training is going well. He’s minimal power but at least those hunches he keeps getting will pay off.” She took another sip. “Gwen’s keeping him in line, though. As she should.”

Arthur just looked at her. “Gwen’s been invaluable. I just hope it doesn’t make things difficult for her. After all, magic is still not fully accepted. Not even a little bit. There’s been some incidents.”

“Gwen would tear them to shreds and then spit them out.” Morgana waved to Gwen, then grinned when Gwen waved back, her face so full of joy that it made Merlin’s heart ache. “Aren’t you two going to dance? After all, you are the next on my marriage watch list.”

Merlin just rolled his eyes. Arthur looked horrified, though, scowling at her. “For fuck’s sake, Morgs, matchmake yourself and leave us alone. I hear you have a list of potential lovers a mile long. Surely one or two of them would suit.”

Morgana smiled, looking as if she were the cat who had got into the crème. “I’ve a few that might make the final list.” Then as she waggled her glass, she said, “Send me the invitation when you get around to getting your head out of your arse, Artie.” Then she walked away, heading off to the cluster of Druids by the fireplace.

For a moment, neither said anything. Morgana was always cryptic, and she could be the annoying sister, poking at her stodgy brother. Either way, Merlin wasn’t going to let it bother him. It’s not as if Arthur would ever consider marriage with a man. That was just not done in Camelot, and in many ways, Arthur was still very much a Pendragon.

Arthur cleared his throat, then led Merlin out onto the dance floor. He didn’t say much. He just held Merlin close, and that was fine with him.

Merlin relaxed into Arthur’s arms. They’d had so much going on since solstice that it was almost sinful to be just enjoying each other’s company. But Merlin loved the feel of Arthur’s arms around him, the way their bodies moved together, surrounded by his warmth and love. It was everything he’d ever wanted. And now, Morgana’s ridiculous prodding notwithstanding, it would seem that finally Merlin could enjoy himself and not worry too much.

Arthur nuzzled into Merlin’s ear. “I’ve booked a suite for tonight. I thought maybe we could… umm, mix it up a bit. After all, you did promise to let me try that sparkly magic pleasure thing on you.”

Merlin was surprised. After all, last time, the only time, Arthur hadn’t been exactly thrilled with using magic to bolster sexual satisfaction. In fact, Merlin had been so worried about Arthur’s reaction that he’d never mentioned it again, nor even thought about it. He didn’t want to make things difficult between them.

But if Arthur was willing, Merlin wasn’t going to say no. Not that he wasn’t going to make Arthur work for it a little. Pulling back, fluttering his eyelashes as if he were some innocent from one of those bodice-ripper books, Merlin said, in a squeaky, high-pitched whisper, “Oh, my. Magic pleasure thing? Whatever are you talking about, Dr Drake?”

Arthur just shook his head. “Don’t even, Emrys. You know exactly what I mean. The butterflies or dandelions or whatever that was. You using magic on me. I want to try it on you.”

Merlin leaned in, voice growing husky. “You mean shoving magic into me so deep that I’ll beg you to fuck me into next week?”

“Well, I’ve only got the suite for tonight but I’m sure they’ll be happy to extend it.” Arthur grinned, then whispered, “I’ve brought a few toys I’d like to try. And I’m sure Lance won’t mind if we… heads up, they’re coming this way.”

With that, Arthur let Merlin go, then turned him around to face Lance and Gwen beaming at them.

Gwen, as always, gave them both a kiss on the cheek, and Lance followed with a hug and a hard pat on their backs. They stood back, both smiling so much that Merlin wondered if their faces would hurt tomorrow. But it didn’t matter. As long as they were happy.

Gwen said, “Thank you so much for everything. Your wedding gift was… well, we’re both overwhelmed, and I have always wanted to go to Bora Bora but I never thought I’d get the chance and now I hope I’ve packed enough. I mean I’ve my bathing suits and Lance’s looks great on him and we have those scarf things that you can tie around and sunscreen and….”

Pulling her close to him, nuzzling at her temple, Lance said, “We both thank you for it. It was incredibly generous.”

Merlin just shrugged and smiled. Sometimes this Gwen reminded him so much of the Gwen he first met in Camelot so long ago that it hurt a little. “I went there once a few years back on business. The water is crystal clear and the fish… well, I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

Arthur piped in. “I’ve never been but I’ll want to see photos… if you ever leave the bungalow.”

Gwen’s cheeks pinked at that, but she giggled, too. “No promises.”

“At least, I’ve finished up my training before we left,” Lance said, nodding to them both. “I’m not strong, but I am relieved to finally know what was going on. So often I’d get hints of things and not know why. At least now I know.”

“I’m glad it’s worked out for you. I just hope it won’t hinder your job prospects,” Arthur said. “There have been some issues with employers firing those with magical ability. We’re looking into it, though.”

Lance looked a little grim at that. “Surprisingly, or maybe not so much, I’ve more offers than I can handle. It would certainly make archaeological surveys a lot easier when we know exactly where to dig.” Lance turned to Gwen. “Although Gwen’s had some problems.”

Gwen shrugged, then sighed when she realised they weren’t going to let her brush it off. “When a few of my clients found out I was doing work for the Albion Trust, they dropped me.” But then she just flicked her hand, a sure signal that it didn’t matter to her. “It wasn’t worth mentioning since I don’t want to work for those kinds of people anyway.”

Merlin could see that it had hurt her, not necessarily money-wise but from what he observed in the days since she started doing work for them, Gwen seemed to connect with her clients in such a way that they became almost like family. Such a rejection was a part of doing business, but it was not always a happy ending.

“I can send more work your way with Merlin Industries. We’ve some issues, too, but nothing we can’t handle.” Merlin said.

But Gwen shook her head. “That’s generous of you. But I hadn’t had time to tell Lance. I’ve several new clients so once we get back from Bora Bora, I’ll be swamped.”

Merlin was relieved. He had expected problems but when his friends had to take the heat for something not of their making, he wasn’t happy. At least now, he knew he could breathe a sigh of relief for them both.

But before Merlin could ask anything else, they were calling over Lance and Gwen for the tossing of the bouquet and the final dance before the happy couple left for their trip.

Needless to say, Morgana used magic to send Gwen’s bridal bouquet almost into Merlin’s hands. But Merlin was quicker and sent it further into the crowd, into Morgana’s astonished grasp. The look Morgana sent Merlin afterwards should have turned him into a pile of burnt bones. But Arthur just laughed and that was good enough for Merlin.


	33. Chapter 33

Arthur was quiet when they drove to the hotel. Night had fallen and the weather held, crisp and cold and clear as glass. Overhead, the stars were brilliant, scattered diamonds winking at them, and for a moment, Merlin didn’t want to go inside. He just wanted to breathe in the smell of snow and pine. Beside him, Arthur was standing there, looking up at the stars, but his arm was curling around Merlin’s waist, and Merlin leaned into the warmth.

It was perfect, he was perfect, and Merlin never wanted to move again.

But of course, Arthur started nuzzling his neck and the heat of his tongue against Merlin’s skin reminded him that the stars on a cold winter’s night may be perfect, but there was something to be said for a crackling fire and a warm bed.

It wasn’t until Arthur gave Merlin’s neck a little scrape of his teeth and then sucked until Merlin knew there would be a spectacular bruise in the morning that he gave in and tugged Arthur toward their room. Arthur didn’t object at all, instead gave a little huff of ‘finally’, and took the lead, grabbing onto Merlin’s arm and hurrying him along.

Arthur couldn’t stop touching him and Merlin wasn’t objecting at all. It was rather fun to try to find the key to open the door while Arthur was trying to stick his tongue down Merlin’s throat, Arthur’s hands busy digging past coats and shirts to find skin. Merlin had to yelp at that. Arthur’s hands were still cold from outside, but they warmed up quickly and Arthur was shoving his fingers past Merlin’s trousers and curling around his cock when Merlin finally opened the door.

They were both breathing heavy when they got inside, Merlin locking the door with his magic because his hands were all over Arthur’s arse. But as they stumbled toward the bed, tossing clothes everywhere, Arthur pulled back. Cupping his hands around Merlin’s face, he said, “I still want to do it. Your magicky sex thing. I want you so lost in pleasure that you won’t even remember your name. Only mine.”

Sending a shiver up Merlin’s spine, the idea that Arthur wanted it that much, that he was that willing to use magic, Merlin could only nod. “All right. It will take a little while to prepare. Do you think you can wait that long?”

Arthur smiled, savage and wanting and sure. “I’ve waited a lifetime. I think a few more minutes won’t be a problem.” He leaned in, gave Merlin another breathless kiss, then said, “I’ll take a shower while you prepare. Then when you are ready, you take one.”

“You don’t want to take one together?” Merlin said.

Arthur shook his head. “Not this time. I want to watch you.”

Merlin was completely fine with that. In fact, he was already hard just thinking about it.

With that, Arthur pulled Merlin to him, giving him a bruising kiss, then let him go. Merlin stumbled back, then sat down hard on the bed while Arthur stripped off the rest of his clothes. He was taking his time, too, the wanker, smiling that satisfied smile, Arthur’s eyes dark with lust, his cock full and ready. But instead of pouncing or even kissing Merlin again, Arthur slowly turned, then walked, flexing his buttocks as he did, into the ensuite. It would have been hilarious if it weren’t so damn sexy.

Finally, as the water in the other room turned on, Merlin swallowed hard, and willing his eager cock down, got to work.

By the time Arthur was done and stood in the doorway, all that marvellous skin on full display, Merlin had a bowl of little spheres, glowing gold, ready for him. He thought it would be easier for Arthur to handle, each sphere a tiny spell of pleasure and power that would sink into the skin wherever Arthur chose. Much like a love spell but with no long-term effects. Just carnal lust and ecstasy, waiting for the right moment.

Arthur’s eyes flicked down toward the bowl, then raised one eyebrow before nodding. “The shower is hot and ready for you.” Merlin gave him a little grin, then walked quickly toward the ensuite. As he passed Arthur in the doorway, Arthur said, “Take as long as you like, but no quick wanks to take off the edge. I want you on edge, very much on… edge.”

Swallowing hard, all Merlin could do was nod. He liked how in control Arthur seemed to be. Usually Arthur liked Merlin to take the lead, a nod perhaps to his magic or maybe Arthur was just a lazy sod. Or if Merlin had to admit the truth, Arthur had always been too much in control in the past, and he’d admitted on one occasion when he’d gotten very drunk that it was exhausting at times. So, if Arthur wanted Merlin to take the lead in bed, Merlin was perfectly happy to do so.

But this felt different. The way Arthur was looking at him, laser-focused and intense, Merlin felt almost like he was prey, as if Arthur were stalking him, waiting to pounce at just the right moment. It was bloody exciting, and Merlin wasn’t going to waste a single second.

Hopping into the shower, he let the water wash over him and then began to soap up. For a moment or two, Arthur disappeared into the bedroom but when he came back, Arthur stood there, watching Merlin. Every once in a while, Arthur would ghost his hand over his own cock but mostly, he ignored it, letting the ebb and flow of what Merlin was doing excite him. And it was pretty clear that Arthur was excited.

So, Merlin took the gel and spread it over his chest, his fingers tweaking his nipples as the soap began to foam up. Then slowly, slowly, his hands roamed downward, skimming across skin, cleaning himself, his elbows, his knees, the space between his toes, anywhere but his cock. All the while, Arthur was staring at him, biting at his lip and when he’d start to pull at his own cock, he must have realised what he was doing and folded his arms across his chest.

Merlin smiled then, taking more of the gel and spreading it at hip level, then sliding his hand down into the crease between legs and bollocks. Arthur made a sound, and started forward, shaking his head. But Merlin just shrugged, and finished cleaning himself, pulling the foreskin back, making sure that he was thorough, then more gel onto his fingers and swirling the soap past his bollocks and teasing his entrance.

Arthur opened the shower door, his hand grabbing onto Merlin’s wrist, stopping him. “No, let me,” Arthur said, then leaned forward into the shower spray, taking Merlin in a kiss that seemed to last an eternity. As he did so, Arthur pushed Merlin’s hand backward, his fingers entwined in Merlin’s, and they were both exploring the soft skin between Merlin’s legs and touching, ever so lightly, first Merlin’s cock, and then his entrance, Arthur’s fingertip pushing inside a moment. Exploring.

Merlin wanted to come right then, but Arthur let go, stepping back. “Not yet,” he said, intense and final. “I’ve things planned, and shower sex isn’t one of them. At least not now. Maybe later.”

Grabbing a towel, scrubbing at his hair, Arthur said, “I think you are clean enough.”

“In a hurry, are we?” Then Merlin sent Arthur a taunting smile, daring him to finish the job.

But Arthur wasn’t having it. Reaching out, he turned off the water, then threw the towel he’d been using at Merlin. “Yes, I am.”

Merlin hadn’t seen him so determined in a long time. If he didn’t know better, he would say that Arthur was nervous about something. It did make sense. After all, Arthur had seen magic used, had magic used on him, but never really took control of it, at least not on a personal level. Even the magic used at Stonehenge had been from the Druids and not wielded by Arthur as this would be.

So instead of pushing back, making snarky remarks, he began to dry off.

Arthur watched him for a moment, then nodding, said, “Don’t make me wait long.”

Merlin didn’t.

When he walked into the bedroom, the room was lit with candles. For a moment, Merlin flashed back to that time so very long ago when Arthur was courting Gwen and filled her room with candlelight. It was very romantic, although Merlin had to admit that he’d been so jealous that night and all the days after. But that had been another time and another reality.

Now, Merlin had no doubt of Arthur’s regard. He’d already shown it in a thousand ways. Merlin relaxed into the moment, letting the sweetness of Arthur planning it all wash over him.

Leaning against the mantle, the blaze in the fireplace at Arthur’s feet cheerfully crackling, Arthur watched Merlin, looking both determined and a little vulnerable, as if he didn’t know how Merlin would react. His skin was glowing, the light from the fire playing against the fine hairs on his thighs, his half-hard cock lying amongst the golden curls at his groin. Merlin never loved him more.

Walking over to him, leaning to give him a soft kiss, his fingers tangled in Arthur’s drying hair, Merlin said, “Come to bed.”

“You’ll have to show me how it works, the magic. They look very different from last time.” Arthur’s eyes flicked over to the bowl, then gave a little grimace. “There’s a lot of them.”

“You don’t have to use all of them. I’ll cancel whatever is left.” There was a tiny worry somewhere under Merlin’s heart. A moment before, Arthur had seemed so in control. Now, he looked almost concerned. “In fact, you don’t have to use any of them if you feel it’s an issue. Although I’d love it if you did… use all of them.”

Arthur nodded, then pulling Merlin to the edge of the bed, tugged him down to sit next to him. “Explain to me how they work.”

Merlin was confused. “You mean how they merge with the pleasure centres in your brain? That sort of thing?”

Arthur rolled his eyes, then nodded toward the bowl. “No, idiot, if I pick one up, will it disintegrate? Do I have to think before I use it? Since I don’t have magic, how will it know what I want it to do?” Arthur sounded almost as if he were planning a campaign, wanting to know everything down to the last detail.

Picking one of the glowing balls up, rolling it around in the palm of his hand, then dropping it back into the bowl, Merlin said, “You just have to give it a little push. The spell will sink into the skin and do the rest. It’s pretty easy.” He nudged Arthur with his elbow. “No thinking needed.”

At least he shoved Merlin back. “Arse.”

Merlin laughed, then reaching out, his hand brushing against the fine hairs on Arthur’s thigh, his fingers curling around the warmth, he leaned in and began nibbling at Arthur’s throat, sucking at that perfect skin.

Giving a little groan, for a moment, Arthur seemed to melt into his touch, but then he pulled back. His hands cupped Merlin’s and stopped him from exploring further. Sounding serious, Arthur said, “I’ve a favour to ask.”

Merlin wanted to mock him out of whatever was going on in that sometimes-thick head of Arthur’s but sitting there naked, surrounded by candlelight, it didn’t seem really the way to go. Instead, slipping his hands out from under Arthur’s, putting a little distance between them, he said, “Arthur? What kind of favour?”

“Do you trust me?” Arthur said.

That sounded ominous. But he didn’t challenge Arthur. Clearly, something was bothering him.

“With my life. And my heart. What is it?” Merlin said.

“I know I should have brought it up earlier. Hell, sitting with you here, even though the whole magic sex thing tonight was my idea and yes, I know I’m being an idiot.” Arthur looked away for a moment, staring down at his hands. “I’ve been around magic users long enough to know that you are very powerful. When you used your magic on me that night, it was… incredible. But… it frightened me, too. And I was too proud to admit it then.”

“Arthur…,” Merlin said, but Arthur just shook his head.

Taking Merlin’s hand and kissing the pulse point on his wrist before letting go, Arthur said, “I know you meant well and that to you, it was probably just child’s play, but I was overwhelmed. I craved it, but I thought about how you could easily overpower me, bend me to your will, hold me down and never let me go.” When Merlin started to say something, Arthur stopped him. “And yes, I know you wouldn’t, but I’m only human, Merlin. So, I thought, if you….”

When Arthur didn’t say anything else, Merlin couldn’t bear it. Instead, fervent as a vow, Merlin said, “What, Arthur? You know I’ll do anything for you.”

There was a heartbeat of silence between them, then Arthur reached over, and opened the drawer of the bedside table. He pulled out lube, putting it aside, then there were other things, a dildo and some items that he didn’t recognise. And lastly, red ropes, looking strong as iron.

“I need control this time. Will you let me have it?” Arthur said. “I know that you could get out of them easily. But I’d like your promise not to.” As he was talking, he kept running the ropes between his fingers, the red silk soft in the candlelight. “There are safe-words and boundaries, but I won’t be upset if you say no.”

“Arthur, yes, to everything.” Reaching over, he pulled the ropes out of Arthur’s hands and began to curl them around his wrists. “Arthur, you know that you mean everything to me, don’t you? I know we bicker a lot but… and I’d never hurt you. Ever.”

Arthur was watching him, watching the flow of silk, his eyes growing wide. He didn’t look up when he said, “Sometimes, around you, I feel superfluous. You are all powerful and I’m just a man.”

“You are a cabbagehead. I wouldn’t have waited a thousand years for just anyone.” Then he held out his hands, and giving Arthur the ropes, watching as Arthur began to tie Merlin’s wrists together, tight enough that no mortal man could escape yet loose enough not to hurt. “Just a man, my arse.”

When the last knot was made, Arthur surged forward, giving Merlin a bruising kiss, biting down on his lip, then soothing it with his tongue. Merlin growled deep in his throat, then gave back as much as he could with his wrists tied, looping his arms over Arthur’s head and pulling him closer.

Together they fell backwards onto the bed, Merlin smiling, and Arthur already grinding a little, hardening fast. The weight of Arthur on him left him breathless and exhilarated. He’d always loved the feel of Arthur, the solidness that meant he was there and not some longed-for dream. And this felt so much more, like Arthur was finally his and he Arthur’s.

Then they were rolling a bit, Arthur trying to move up toward the headboard, Merlin dragging him back down for another kiss. Finally, Arthur ducked out of Merlin’s arms, biting and licking his way down Merlin’s chest, nipping first at one nipple and when that was peaked and red, he moved to the other.

Merlin couldn’t do much with his hands tied but his knee was rubbing against Arthur’s cock and for a moment, he thought Arthur would give in and grind down on him. But instead, Arthur muttered something under his breath, then wiggled off the bed, and gathering up Merlin in his arms, pushed him to the headboard.

A second later, Merlin was caught fast, the rope looped around one of the ornamental finials. He could move his hips and legs but not his hands. And Arthur, the prat, stood back and smiled, arranging the bedclothes around him, then uncorked the lube and coated his fingers with it.

Expecting Arthur to prepare him, expecting that glorious cock of his to be nudging into Merlin at any moment, instead, Arthur coated himself, pulling, twisting his fingers around his own cock, playing until it was hard and leaking. Looking like he was lost in pleasure, ignoring Merlin as he groaned into the air.

But he didn’t come. Instead, he crawled up Merlin’s body, letting his cock leave a trail of lube and liquid, having the cockhead hovering over Merlin’s mouth for a moment, then smearing his excitement all across Merlin’s lips. For a heartbeat, Merlin was stubborn, staring up at Arthur, daring him, but then he opened his mouth and let Arthur fuck it. Both of them watching the other, daring to see which one would give in first.

Arthur let out a groan, and Merlin could feel the head in his mouth fattening, but unexpectedly, Arthur didn’t come. Instead, he pulled out, then reaching over, picked up one of the golden spheres and shoved it into Merlin’s mouth, and thrust his cock back in.

There was a burst of lust there, white fire coursing through Merlin’s head, and down his spine, making him arch up, chasing the pleasure. He couldn’t moan, his mouth was full of Arthur, and sometimes he couldn’t breathe from the angle, but Arthur was careful after all. But there was a rumble somewhere in his chest and his mind was begging for his neglected cock to be touched.

He wanted to reach for Arthur, too, but he was caught fast, but he tugged at the ropes anyway, enjoying the pull of them, a reminder that Arthur could do with him what he wanted, could take Merlin or ignore him, could explore skin or thrust fingers or cock or some of the toys on the bedtable into Merlin and it would be Arthur’s choice. To deny Merlin ecstasy or make him writhe in so much pleasure he might not walk for days after.

A heartbeat later, Merlin’s mouth was flooded with bitter release, Arthur crying out his name. Merlin swallowed as much as he could, letting the rest dribble out as Arthur pulled away and lay next to him. Merlin was still flying on pleasure, too, his heart beating so hard that he thought Arthur could see it jumping through his skin, Merlin wild with begging for more.

Far from over, Arthur reached out and wiped away the come, then catching his breath, he gave Merlin another kiss, thrusting his tongue in as if to taste what he’d left there. 

Merlin tried to roll into him, to remind him that Merlin was still unsatisfied, that his cock demanded attention, that Arthur needed to finish him off at least. But Arthur just laughed, then said, “I’ve always loved your mouth, even when you were spitting out insults.”

“I’ll spit out more than insults if you don’t get on with it, prat.” Merlin growled out.

“I’ve a gag if you do.” Arthur reached out, opening the drawer again and pulling out one of Merlin’s scarves. “But I’d rather hear you moaning my name.” Still, he drew the cloth across Merlin’s mouth just to show that he could, then slowly, slowly dragged it down Merlin’s chest, catching the hairs there, and further down, covering his hard cock. “Will you be good?”

Merlin scowled at him. “I’m always good. Are you enjoying yourself?”

“More than you know.” And with that, Arthur let the scarf flutter to the floor. Then he squirted out another dollop of lube, coating what looked like a string of beads. Reaching over, Arthur nosed at Merlin’s cock, then gave it a lick, smiling as Merlin shuddered a little, thrusting his hips up when Arthur started to move away. With a little chuckle, Arthur reached out, one hand holding onto Merlin’s excited cock, and he took him in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the underside. With the other hand, he thrust one finger into Merlin’s entrance, exploring.

But Merlin was too close to care. He kept shoving upward, chasing Arthur’s hot mouth, hoping that he’d come before long. And if one finger became two, then it was all good.

Arthur worked him, tongue busy but not enough to push Merlin over the edge, pressing down to keep Merlin from coming when he grew too close. And Merlin was too intent on falling into ecstasy, chasing after the pleasure of fingers and clever tongue, to realise that Arthur was shoving the beads, one by one into Merlin. It felt strange and exciting all at the same time, and as Merlin moved a little, trying to chase the feeling, the beads inside moved, too, hitting that fantastic nub inside, over and over again, shooting little sparks of pleasure into his groin.

Then there was another burst of white fire and bliss. Arthur must have taken one of the magic spheres and shoved it in, then as he did so, he was pulling out the beads. With the magic and Arthur swallowing Merlin down and the beads sending daggers of pleasure and pain up his spine, Merlin came with a shout, calling out Arthur’s name again and again.

Merlin didn’t remember much else, at least for a little while. His arms were still caught in the headboard, but he felt as if he’d found paradise and was still floating in its arms.

But apparently Arthur wasn’t done. The beads were back inside, and Arthur kept pulling them in and out, sending the magic spheres inside at random intervals. The sparks of pleasure were almost torture, sending wildfire into his groin, down to the tips of his feet and into his head. Arthur was laving Merlin’s chest, too, biting down on one nipple, then another, sucking on his skin, leaving marks that might last for days. Scratches, too, little bursts of pain that morphed into pleasure as Arthur worked him. And as he used his hands and mouth, Arthur was pressing the magic into Merlin from different directions, chest, toes, inside him, another into his mouth.

It was almost an explosion of ecstasy, like fireworks lighting across the Merlin’s flesh. And Arthur was shoving in, too, his cock taking the place of the beads, warmth and life where before there had been hard demands.

Up and up, Arthur’s cock nudging that wild place inside of Merlin, and there were sparks of magic on his wrists and over his heart, and two of the spheres shoved into him as Arthur pulled out and then slammed back inside.

Merlin could only ride the stormwave of pleasure flinging him skyward into the path of so much ecstasy he thought he’d die of it. Heart swelling, his cock so hard he thought it would burst and Arthur telling him to let go, to come at long last.

And all he could think was Arthur, Arthur, as everything crested and then fell into a universe of ecstasy and light.

Merlin didn’t remember what happened next. By the time he could think again, Arthur had released him, and was cleaning him up with a warm cloth. The red silk rope was tossed to one side, abandoned, although Merlin hoped he’d not seen the last of it. In a way, it had been freeing, for both of them.

The bowl of magical spheres was empty, and the beads and other things gone.

Arthur was careful with him. He wasn’t naked, now clothed in a robe left by the room staff, but Arthur was gentle, undemanding, as he finished cleaning Merlin up. Then he handed him another robe, and said, “All right?”

Merlin smiled. Hell, he was more than all right. He was at peace with the world and his place in it. As long as Arthur was by his side. But he didn’t say that, just nodded.

Reaching over, Arthur grabbed Merlin’s hand and said, “Let’s sit by the fire and enjoy the quiet. We’ve got to get back to Camelot tomorrow to oversee some of the electrical installations and I thought tonight might be a good night just to relax. They’ve even left us champagne.”

After Arthur poured them both a glass, Merlin said, “You’ve a funny way of relaxing. Where did you get those beads?”

“I could say the internet. It’s a scary place, after all.” Arthur smiled, then turned solemn. “But truth be told, I knew about them already. My ex loved all kinds of kinky things and he pretty much tried them all on me.” Shrugging, he said, “Some of them I even liked.”

“Even the ropes?” Merlin said, glancing back at the red silk.

“Even the ropes. As long as you trust the person, it is… well, I thought you might be okay with it.” Arthur gave a little sigh. “But I meant it when I told you that you could say no.”

Leaning over, giving Arthur a gentle kiss, Merlin said, “I know.”

For a long while, they just sat there, sipping champagne and listening to the crackle of the fireplace. The candles had burned down quite a bit, and it was clear that Arthur had blown some of them out, but still the light and the sounds reminded Merlin of long ago Camelot, of youth and wonder and home.

Arthur sat there, staring into the fire, then giving a little sigh, he turned to Merlin. “Can I ask you a question? And if the answer is no, then that will be the end of it.”

“You can ask me anything, although if it’s about going for another round, I’m really sore so that would be a no for now and a yes for tomorrow.”

Arthur didn’t laugh, though, didn’t even insult him. Instead, he reached out for Merlin’s hand, and turning it over, kissed the pulse point on his wrist before letting go. “I’ve wanted to do this for a while but with everything going on, never was the right time.” From the pocket of his robe, he pulled out a box, and gave it to Merlin. “Open it.”

Merlin had no idea what was going on, but he did as Arthur asked.

Inside the box was two matching rings, both banded silver and gold, and as Merlin looked closer, he could see a triskelion and dragon pattern chasing each other around the outside. On the inside, it said, in the script of Camelot, _Two sides of a single coin_.

Merlin’s heart started to race. “Arthur, what….”

“You can say no but I would very much like to marry you, if you will have me. I know that I’m not the king you once followed nor am I rich in treasure or lands. But you have my heart and I hope I have yours.”

For a moment, Merlin couldn’t say anything. He kept thinking that it was a dream and that he’d wake up and be alone again, waiting for a king who never returned. But as he looked at Arthur, the man he’d loved for a thousand years, there was only ever one answer.

“Oh, you cabbagehead, yes, a hundred thousand times yes.”


	34. Epilogue

Spring brought lots of changes. The castle was pretty much finished, and there were tours again, although not the kind that Merlin had always worried about. The Druid elders pointed out that allowing magic users and the ordinary folk to mingle in a non-threatening situation would show them that there was nothing to fear from either group. Merlin reluctantly agreed, although he put his foot down about busloads of tourists and carnival-like entertainment. But there was always a steady stream of school groups and it did fill the castle with noise and life. Arthur was pleased and therefore, Merlin was, too.

They were walking across the courtyard, arguing as usual, when Merlin spotted a mother with a girl, maybe seven or eight, walking slowly and a bit reluctantly through the castle gate. The mother was glancing around, looking a bit worried, cringing at the activity. There was a conference going on in the Great Hall, issues of the government asking for more information about magic and some larger corporations wanting to use magic in their processes, things that would need to be hashed out and finalised by the larger magical community. People were scurrying about getting ready for lunch. But no tours were planned for the day and certainly none for kids.

And Merlin could feel a hint of new magic in the air.

Nudging Arthur, Merlin nodded toward the mother and child. “Might be a candidate. We’ve had quite a few lately.”

Merlin and Arthur didn’t slow down, though, kept talking quietly so as not scare away the pair, then stopped by the entrance into the banquet hall.

Finally, the woman seemed to gather her courage and walked over to them. “I hear that you take in….”

But the little girl didn’t wait for her mother to finish. Bouncing with excitement, she reached out and tugged on Arthur’s coat. “Are you the king?”

Smiling, Arthur knelt down by the mother’s side but close enough for the girl to look him in the eye. “I used to be but now I’m helping others.” Nodding up to the woman, he said, “But I guess I’m sort of the king of Camelot, me and my friend, Merlin here.” Then turning back to the girl, waving his hand toward Merlin, Arthur said, in a stage whisper, “He’s a warlock, you know.”

The girl’s eyes grew wide as saucers as she looked first at Merlin and then back at Arthur. She said, in a small voice, “Does he do magic?”

“I believe he does.” Arthur smiled, then pulled Merlin over and down so that they were both the girl’s height. “Merlin?”

With a nod, Merlin put his hands together, then breathed into them. “ _Buterfléoge bleófáge_.”

The courtyard filled with butterflies, flitting around in the sunlight, a rainbow of colour and movement, reds and blues and greens, yellows and oranges. A moment later, the girl’s arm had three butterflies on them, and the mother’s hair was a brilliant collage of colour.

“Ohhhh, butterflies.” It was clear that the girl wanted to jump up and down in delight but was afraid to scare the butterflies away. She did giggle, though. “They tickle.”

Arthur didn’t roll his eyes, but Merlin could see that he wanted to. He did whisper, too quiet for the girl to hear, “Merlin, really, butterflies?”

Merlin just laughed. For a few minutes, the four of them watched the butterflies flying on the breeze, their colours changing with every beat of their wings, before finally disappearing in a burst of gold.

The girl looked downhearted as they vanished, but Merlin said, “Would you like to try some magic?”

The woman blinked at that, looking a bit frightened, but finally she sighed and nodded down to her daughter.

Not wanting to scare either of them, Merlin was gentle as he said, “Don’t be discouraged if it doesn’t work at first. It’s harder than it looks. I can’t really show you how to conjure butterflies, but lighting a candle is pretty easy.”

Shoulders drooping, the girl said, “Mama won’t let me. I….”

Smoothing the girl’s hair down, apology and protection in the way her hand rested on the girl’s head, the woman said, “She can light candles already. She’s been starting fires and that’s…why we’re here.”

Nodding, Merlin said, “A lot of people with magic start that way. It can be scary.” Then he turned to the girl, and stage-whispered, “My mum said I could float toys in my cradle. I think I drove her crazy.”

When the girl tried not to smile, looking up at her mother for reassurance, Merlin said, “How about I conjure up a flame in my hand and you change it to look like your favourite toy? Do you think you could do that?”

Nodding, the girl said, “I can try.”

Merlin smiled. Then putting out his hand, he said, “ _Besenge_.”

When the flame jumped into his hand, glowing bright, the girl reached out, hesitating, then pushing against it, she giggled. “It’s not hot.”

“Nope.” Merlin grinned. “Okay, now look at the light and think about your favourite toy. Feel the shape of it, how much you love it, how much you want to see it again next time you’re home. And in your head, make it as real as you can.” When the girl nodded, solemn and focused, he said, “Now say _bringe_ and wish very hard.”

Merlin didn’t really expect it to work. She was obviously untrained, and the mother probably tried to protect her by keeping her magic secret. But that never worked. It hadn’t worked for him or Morgana or any of the others with magic.

To his delight and hers, when the girl repeated the spell, the flame began to change, turning into a teddy bear with one droopy eye and a scarf that had seen better days. For a few moments, it was clear that it was a well-loved toy before the flame finally disappeared.

The girl was practically vibrating with excitement. She was bouncing up and down, dancing around her mother, tugging at her coat. “Did you see, Mama, did you see? I did it.”

The mother wasn’t nearly as happy, looking almost frightened, looking around as if to make sure no one had seen. But Arthur just said, very quietly, “Don’t worry, ma’am. It will be all right. We’ve places for you both here and at one of the training centres in the country. For as long as you need.” Nodding down to the girl, he said, “If she remains untrained, it might be worse. Better she learns to control her gifts.”

When the woman nodded, sighing defeat, Arthur bowed to the girl. “And what is your name, my Lady?”

The little girl giggled, then curtsied very badly, as if she’d seen something on the telly and thought it was something she should do when talking to a king. Arthur had to bend down to hear her whisper, “Moira. Although sometimes people call me other things.”

As Arthur straightened, he nodded, as if talking with a queen. “Well, Lady Moira, we don’t do that here. We teach you how to use your gifts for good. Would you like to see some more?”

She grinned, then clapped her hands, pulling on her mother’s coat as she said, “Yes!”

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other and smiled. There it was, the call of destiny fulfilled, uniting those with magic and those without into a new age where they could live as one people and one realm. There was a rightness of it all when Arthur said, “Welcome to Albion.”

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _“Acene færinge.”_ = I bring ecstasy  
>  _“Buterfléoge welhecwen.”_ = beautiful blue butterflies  
>  _“Fāgete.”_ = Change colour  
>  _“Ontȳne.”_ = transform
> 
>  **Story Notes:**  
>  Please note that while I have a little experience as an archaeologist, I’ve not gone on digs in decades so am not really up on the latest techniques. I had to Google things just like everyone else! All errors are mine.  
>   
> Also I am going to assume that Merlin took place around 900-1000AD. I know the legends put him much earlier, more like the 400s, but our Merlin’s armour and castle were nothing like 400AD so I’m pushing it forward several hundred years.  
>   
> I really know nothing about the Druids, just taking what was in the show and expanding a bit. I had to look up Druid prayers and I took some liberties with those found at [https://www.learnreligions.com/about-yule-prayers-4072720 ](https://www.learnreligions.com/about-yule-prayers-4072720)and <https://druidnetwork.org/what-is-druidry/rites-and-rituals/rites-celebrate-seasonal-festivals/winter-solstice/alban-arthan-winter-solstice-midwinter/>The one that starts “We swear by peace and love to stand” is theirs, not mine.   
>   
> Insults: These were from (https://i.redd.it/btflnntvbkx31.jpg): bongfish, fuccbone bungus, scrotewad, pootsack I know. Aren’t they hilarious?  
>   
>  **Disclaimer:** I do not own the BBC version of Merlin; It and Shine do. I am very respectfully borrowing them with no intent to profit. No money has changed hands. No copyright infringement is intended.


End file.
